Reminiscent tales of a humble angler

BERKELEY

GENERAL
LIBRARY

UNIVERSITY OF
CALIFORNIA

er

In Quiet Waters

REMINISCENT TALES
OF A HUMBLE ANGLER

BY

DR. FRANK MACKIE JOHNSON

INTRODUCTION BY

DR. JAMES A. HENSHALL

Author of the "Book of the Black Bass," etc.

CINCINNATI

STEWART KIDD COMPANY
PUBLISHERS

COPYRIGHT, 1921
STEWART KIDD COMPANY

All Rights Reserved
COPYRIGHT IN ENGLAND

CONTENTS

PAGE

INTRODUCTION 5

PREFACE 1 1

A STRING OF SUNFISH 13

TAIL FIRST 15

PLANKING POACHERS 21

A DAY OF DAZE 29

PIONEERS OF THE FOREST 37

A NOVEL LURE 43

WHITE PERCH DE LUXE 49

WHERE CHASMS FROWN 54

FROLICS OF THE SILVER KINGS 63

SULKING SAMSONS 68

THE TOGUE'S REMARKS 73

ARTFUL ANTAGONISTS 75

A WISH AS TWILIGHT FALLS 82

WHEN STORMS RAGED 85

ABOVE AND BELOW 90

SURPRISES 95

AN INDIAN LEGEND 102

THE CLOSE OF DAY 108

M839003

INTRODUCTION

Fishes are the oldest of the vertebrate
animals, the first to be evolved in the scheme
of creation; and Angling is as old as the
eternal hills. The fish-hook is mentioned in
several books of the Old Testament, and
fish-hooks of bone, shell, stone, and bronze
are found in the deposits of prehistoric ages.

The first book on Angling was written by
an English woman of noble birth, Dame
Juliana Berners, whose father was beheaded
in 1388. She was Prioress of Sopwell Nun-
nery, near St. Albans, England. She was
author of treatises on Hunting, Hawking,
and Angling. The latter treatise was en-
titled "Fisshynge With An Angle/' and was
printed, a folio edition, in London, in 1496.
This, it will be remembered, is more than
four hundred years ago, and a dozen genera-
tions of Anglers have since risen up to call
her blessed.

In her treatise on Angling she gave ex-
plicit directions for making rods, lines, hooks,
sinkers, and floats, and gave the formulas

5

INTRODUCTION

and dressings, and named the materials for
the construction of twelve artificial flies,
imitations of natural insects that frequented
the streams during the summer months, to
be used for trout and grayling. These flies,
with slight modifications, are in use to-day,
and some of them, doubtless, were em-
ployed by the "Humble Angler" when on
some of his outings, as recounted in his
"Reminiscent Tales."

The next book on Angling to appear was
the "Booke of Fishing With Hooke and
Line," by Leonard Mascall, 4to, London,
1600. Next in chronological sequence was
the "Art of Angling," by Thomas Barker,
I2mo, London, 1651. Neither of these books
survived beyond one or two editions. Then
came the "Compleat Angler" or the "Con-
templative Man's Recreation," by Izaak
Walton, London, 1653, which has become
the classic of angling literature.

There have been more than a hundred edi-
tions of the "Compleat Angler," edited, an-
notated, and published by various persons
since Walton's time. And likewise there
have been books and books on Angling, good,
bad, and indifferent, published on both sides
of the Atlantic, and all of them have been
6

INTRODUCTION

modeled, more or less, on "Fisshynge With
An Angle" or the "Compleat Angler."

The most superb work on Angling ever
issued from the press is "Forest, Lake, and
River," treating of the fishes of "New Eng-
land and Eastern Canada." This sumptu-
ous work is in two royal octavo, de luxe
volumes, bound in embossed vellum and
satin, with nearly a hundred full-page col-
ored plates and black and white illustra-
tions, and with a portfolio of twelve life-
size game-fishes, two by three feet, repro-
duced from oil paintings by A. D. Turner.
This unique and remarkable work is by
Frank Mackie Johnson, M.D., the author of
these unpretentious "Reminiscent Tales."

While Dr. Johnson's recherche volumes
are suitable only for the angler's bookcase
or his library table, his modest book of fish-
ing sketches is intended more for the pocket
of his fishing jacket, to be read and browsed
over, while smoking his post-prandial pipe,
after the mid-day luncheon on the bank of
the stream; or when in his den on a winter
night, in slippered feet, to follow the "Humble
Angler" in his wanderings by lake and stream
in search of sport and adventure.

The dominant note in this symphony of

7

INTRODUCTION

the woods and waters is the love and lure
of Angling, pure and simple, and in ac-
cordance with the spirit of true sportsman-
ship with all that it implies. We follow the
"Humble Angler" from the rock-bound
waters of Newfoundland to the sunny
lagoon of Florida; from sunrise on the At-
lantic to sunset on the Pacific; from tide-
water to mountain pool. With the warp of
angling he weaves the woof of personal ad-
venture and the weft of encounters with
pioneers, Indians, smugglers, and outlaws.

We sit in a dory with him on an estuary
of the New England coast fishing for the
sturdy pollack or the gamesome white perch,
while the snowy wings of the sea-gull flash
in the sunshine. And then we are seated
with him in a canoe on a limpid lake in the
Pine Tree State, and watch his random
casts for black bass, toward sundown, with
the wild cry of the loon in our ears. And
then, again, we are wading a rocky stream
casting the tinseled lure for the ruby-
studded brook trout, while the Halcyon
bird springs his alarm rattle to warn the
denizens of the waters over which he keeps
watch and ward.

And anon we are trolling in the depths of
8

INTRODUCTION

a larger lake for the togue, or lake trout,
who will not venture his burly but comely
form to respond to the angler's more sports-
manlike surface lure. And so we follow our
brother angler and behold the mighty leap
of the tarpon; or the more graceful curve of
the salmon as he bounds from the silent and
swift water; and then to the tumbling
streams of the Golden West to tempt the
crimson-banded rainbow trout, or the salmon-
like steelhead with seductive and attractive
bits of silk and feathers, called by courtesy,
a fly.

And so, in these stray leaves from the
"Humble Angler's" book of memory, we
follow him through sunshine and storm, by
day and night, by tumbling brooks and wide
waters, by surging streams and sequestered
pools in quest of his quarry. And we share
with him the hopeful anticipation and con-
fident expectation for the fruition of exu-
berant success; or sympathize with him in
failure of the fish to respond to his cast, or
to break away, or in other vicissitudes that
go to make up that delightful uncertainty
that is the chief incentive and pleasure of
the angler's life.

And then at the "Close of Day," with a

9

INTRODUCTION

hearty hand clasp we bid him au revoir with
wishes for better luck on the morrow, and
commend him to the cheerful, inspiring and
comforting words of our Mother Superior,
good Dame Juliana Berners, in her exordium
to the angler:

"But if any fish break away after that he
is on the hook; or else that he catch nought;
or that there be nought in the water; yet at
least he hath his wholesome walk, and the
sweet air of the mead flowers that maketh
him hungry."

JAMES ALEXANDER HENSHALL.

Cincinnati, Ohio,
March, 1921.

10

PREFACE

If old but never-to-be-forgotten memories
can be reawakened in the heart of those
who read these pages, and if for the moment
all cares be cast aside, I shall rest content.

If the perusal takes you back to the days
when you lived close to nature, the aim
will have been fulfilled.

Had it not been for the kindness of my
preceptor and friend, Doctor James A. Hen-
shall, who wrote the introduction and en-
couraged me in my task, my own courage
would have ebbed.

Had I not, in a rash moment, almost
promised some of the members of the
Explorers' Club, that some day I would at-
tempt something of the sort; had I not
listened to most delightful reminiscent ex-
periences at the Canadian Camp dinners;
had it not been for the enjoyable and in-
spiring hours passed in the happy compan-
ionship of Mr. Isaac B. Hosford, Mr. Herbert
Pomeroy Brown, and Dr. Charles R.
II

PREFACE

Fletcher, all of New York, and Mr. William
B. Abbott, of Wilton, N. H., I doubt greatly
if this booklet would have seen the light of
day.

To all of these good people I wish to em-
phasize the pleasure their comradeship has
bestowed, and to them this volume is en-
dearingly inscribed.

FRANK MACKIE JOHNSON.
Boston, Massachusetts,
January,

12

The String of Sunfish

Let me dream once more of childhood,
When, a truant from the school,

I went roaming through the wildwood,
Searching for a shady pool.

Where, with pole and line and pin-hook,
Stole the golden hours away;

Future chances risked so lightly
For that sport of summer day.

One poor little string of sunfish,

Shrunk and withered soon were they;

And sad twilight brought the feeling,
Better had I stayed away!

It was weary, trudging homeward;

Luck, to reach there in good time;
And the lie I had been planning,

Loomed before me like a crime.

Still, those days were sweeter, brighter,
Than the days to come can be;

Was it that my heart was lighter
Or, perchance, that I was free?

13

REMINISCENT TALES

Tail First

It was a perfect day, the last one of June;
the cool and bracing air quivered in the
glorious sunshine that glistened o'er wood-
land and waters. Breezes stirred into ripples
the surface of the deep, silent river as it
flowed through the Canadian forests in its
course toward the sea. Bordered on either
hand by giant cliffs, sublime in their dignity,
this magnificent stream might well have
been the harbinger of some exalted monarch
whom Nature had empowered to reign.

Such a scene held the observer entranced.
The vast gorge appeared so steep it evoked
fear; its height seemingly pierced the zone
of brilliant blue, while at its base the deep
gliding waters were as black as night.
Mystery had hovered in the very atmosphere
of this realm of woodland until its influence
had become dominant.

Reaching this spot had entailed a long,
hard tramp and the preceding night had
been unseasonably cold, a meager tent fur-
nishing but scant shelter and warmth to the

15

REMINISCENT TALES

Angler and his companion. However, all
discomfort was speedily forgotten, — even the
sliding-down, falling-down and rolling-down
by which the bottom of the ravine was
reached. No pathway had ever existed but
the wayfarers did their bests to supply the
need, and surely enough boulders, rocks,
and stones were started on their downward
course to have provided sufficient material
for the erection of a Hall of Fame had incli-
nation and time justified the undertaking.

Eugene McCarthy, author of "Familiar
Fish," was the humble Angler's companion,
A fine chap and a keen sportsman was he.
McCarthy knew a lot about fishing, flies,
fire-water, and a host of other things.

On this particular day the third pool, as
it was called, was chosen. It was unique in
its way. The river turned rather abruptly
and gradually widened for some distance,
then formed a broad and deep basin before
sweeping its unbroken waters over a natural
dam. This flowing was so even it was diffi-
cult to realize that the barrier had not been
constructed by the hand of man. Within
the confines of this basin many ouananiche
or "little leapers" lurked and waited.

Just over the dam the descent was rugged
16

TAIL FIRST

and the river-bed somewhat choked with
boulders and rocks. All about these foam-
ing waters crashed and eddied, transforming
themselves into active miniature rapids,
then becoming quiet again as they passed
the foot of the decline.

Rocks of all sizes were huddled together
on either shore for a hundred feet or so, then
broad strips of glistening white sand stretched
themselves languidly in the June sunshine
and in turn verging into meadows of waving
green.

Just at the edge of the basin and near the
bank a large flat rock showed above the
surface. It was not easy of access and pro-
vided just standing space for one person,
but it was an excellent place for casting,
having no bush growth or trees nearby.
Both fishermen used five-ounce split-bamboo
rods, selecting the McCarthy and Montreal
flies.

McCarthy had the first turn. His cast
was a beautiful one and a fair-sized fish
struck sharply. An interesting battle en-
sued and needless to say, the salmon was
played and landed in perfect form. Then
McCarthy rested and in turn watched the
Angler try his skill.

17

REMINISCENT TALES

A five-pounder rose smartly, courteously
taking the McCarthy fly. The captive made
a mad, sharp rush directly upstream but
without avail, for he was soon conquered and
landed.

Late in the afternoon the Angler made his
last cast. It was a long one nearly reaching
the edge of the dam. The flash, leap, and
powerful rush of a frightened fish came as a
surprise. The Angler was scared and quite
convinced that the biggest fish in this won-
derful stream had accepted his challenge.
A vindictive, maddened dash caused the
reel to shriek a war-cry as the speeding line
lessened its windings.

As the fish went over the dam the Angler
yelled to McCarthy and jumped to another
rock. McCarthy offered no assistance but
began to laugh, while the Humble Angler
kept on jumping as best he could.

In those days, it can be truly said, the
Angler did resemble a fat chamois leaping
from crag to crag; while to-day, alas and
alack! it would be far less difficult for him
to leap from jag to jag, if the laws of the
land did not prohibit indulgence in alcoholic
exercise. Had Doug. Fairbanks been present
the demon of jealousy would have embit-
18

TAIL FIRST

tered his existence for he would have had
nothing on the Humble Angler, — except his
salary.

He was too busy to stop and laugh at
himself even if he had had the inclination.
Not so with McCarthy, who loudly whooped
his enjoyment. Later he fully explained
just how funny it was. He may have been
right. Of this the Angler was no judge,
but he did know that later there appeared
on various parts of his anatomy more black
and blue spots than ever adorned a coach
dog.

The fleeing salmon did not allow time for
even a cuss word by way of relief. The
Angler lost his hat, his footing, his temper,
and his breath, but managed to retain rod
and honor.

There is no record of just how long this
acrobatic performance lasted. Judging by
his feelings and condition it might have been
weeks rather than minutes. As the shining
sands extended a welcome, glancing back-
ward he fancied some of those ghostly rocks
were grinning their mockery.

At last the aerial voyage was over. The
rod was in his hand; the reel was on the rod;
the line attached to the reel, the leader to

19

REMINISCENT TALES

the line, and the fly to the leader. The
whale and the fly were coupled, so he held
his peace.

Somehow that mammoth aquatic animal
had shrunk to an alarming degree by the
time he was landed, for when weighed he
was a scant two pounds. Perhaps violent
exercise had reduced his weight. He seemed
to be in prime condition though out of
breath and somewhat annoyed that the
hook was firmly embedded in his tail.

Exhausted, the Humble Angler rested on
the sands while golden sunlight and the
whisper of waters brought tranquillity. He
was at a loss to understand why McCarthy
and the guide were so greatly amused and
why they persisted in slapping him on the
back just when he was beginning to breathe
normally again. He willingly admitted that
catching a salmon through the tail could
hardly be looked upon as perfectly good
form but insisted that this leaper had been
honestly brought to the kill.

The tail's tale has been told and in the
memorabilia of piscatorial experiences it has
been accorded rightful recognition.

20

Planking Poachers

Several years ago it was the good fortune
of the Humble Angler to meet a gentleman
who proved himself to be not only a fine
fellow but a true sportsman in the highest
sense of the word.

Both being greatly interested in all mat-
ters pertaining to fish culture and other pis-
catorial subjects, their acquaintance ripened
rapidly, and when they parted this new-
found friend extended a cordial invitation to
the Angler to visit him at his New Bruns-
wick home. This invitation was accepted
and within a fortnight the Angler became
a guest at Hallworthy Manor.

In an after-dinner chat the host informed
his guest that he knew of a most excellent
salmon river, owned by a few friends of his,
and expressed his regret that they had not
met earlier in the season, for at that time
both of them could have tried their expert-
ness on this stream. Major Barnes, barrister,
was a modest man for it was later learned
that, although a few friends were associated

21

REMINISCENT TALES

with him, he really owned most of the camps
and water-rights himself.

Perhaps he saw the look of disappointment
his guest could not conceal; anyway, after a
moment's pause he continued: "Listen, my
dear chap; you know much about fish and
their habits. Will you arrange to take a
trip with any friend you care to invite and
visit the head-waters of our river?

"There is a saw-mill near the source and
I want your opinion if its existence means
danger or disease to the salmon. I have
been informed that sawdust is detrimental
to fish life if there is much of it in the waters,
but know little of such matters myself. If
it were possible I should be delighted to go
along with you but at this time it is im-
perative that I remain here. Everything
you need will be supplied. Capture speci-
mens enough, even though it is late in the
season, so that you can be absolutely sure
of their condition. Will you do me this
favor, and when will you be ready?"

Surprised and gratified, the Angler ex-
pressed his appreciation of the courtesies ex-
tended, stating that two days would give
ample time in which to complete necessary
arrangements. A handshake and a wee
22

PLANKING POACHERS

nippie sealed the compact. A merry twinkle
in the eyes of his host escaped the Angler's
detection.

A telegram was immediately dispatched
to an old friend asking him to leave at once
for Pleasantdale; and the happy Angler de-
parted very certain that at this little hamlet
some word would be waiting.

An attractive place this small town proved
to be and its special pride was the fact that
it could boast of having a hotel. There was
a huge sign, on one side of which appeared
the magic words: "PLEASANTDALE HOTEL."
On the other side were a few small rooms
attached. It mattered but little that the
rooms were tiny, the beds hard, the pillows
microscopic, and a bath-room invisible.
The mostly-chicory blue-black coffee was
forgiven when a real newborn egg made its
appearance.

The morning was grand. The guides re-
ported that everything was in readiness, and
a delayed telegram stated that the Angler's
friend would be there that evening.

Billy arrived in Pleasantdale at 10 p. M.
The Angler, the guides, and the townspeople
met him at the train and escorted him to the
hotel.

23

REMINISCENT TALES

There never was a keener fly-caster than
this same Billy. Busy man of affairs though
he is, the call of the wild he never could resist.

A very early start was made next morning.
The guides were decent chaps; Gussie, who
was tall, lank and silent, took charge of
Billy; while Bob, shorter, thick-set, and
profane, guided the Angler. Both paddled
well.

Before the main stream was reached a
number of deer were seen either feeding or
scurrying through the brush; whilst a large
bear, frightened forth from a thicket, ran
along the bank in his peculiar dog-trot.
Civilization was being left behind.

At noon while they rested a few trout
were caught and cooked for lunch, and the
journey was resumed.

The camp was made at sunset. As the
air had grown chilly a fire was started and
its warmth was most welcome. Everybody
was tired and turned in early. The whir of
waters, the hoot of owls, and the rustle of
leaves brought sleep and restful, soothing
dreams.

After a hearty breakfast at sunrise the
canoes again headed up stream. This
proved to be a charming river with its silent

24

PLANKING POACHERS

waters flowing in sinuous curves bordered
on either side with dense woods. Finally
they landed at a long, narrow island that
appeared to be surrounded by deep water.

Here the bush growth was scanty and
there was not a tree to be seen. At one
end of the island short-bush blueberries
grew in abundance, being remarkably large
and most delicious.

There were two good pools of about the
same size with plenty of casting room. The
Angler called out to his friend to take his
choice.

"All right, Old Man," replied Billy, 'Til
try the starboard quarter."

The sport that day exceeded all expecta-
tions. Silver Gray, Jock Scott, Popham,
and the Silver Doctor were the flies selected
and they were all well taken. The anglers
struck the first fish of the day at nearly the
same moment but when landed they proved
to be females full of spawn, so were carefully
unhooked and restored to their river freedom.
The guides were amazed at such a procedure
but heartily approved nevertheless. As
there were large numbers of fish in the
stream it was agreed that none of the females
should be killed.

25

REMINISCENT TALES

As the afternoon waned the agreement
had to be modified for the one grilse that
had been kept was scarcely sufficient for
their needs. One more fish must be killed
regardless of gender. Luckily the Angler
landed a large jack, so the food question was
solved.

After leaving the island a short paddle
brought the party to a small but very com-
fortable camp. Wishing to plank his fish,
it became necessary for the Angler to find
a suitable board. Near the camp, nailed to
a tree, was a large sign with black lettering
reading something like this:

NO POACHING

Quickly it was pounded free and the fish
planked on the other side. Where it became
burned the wood was scraped and the sign
was replaced. Nobody was ever the wiser,
except the guides, and they never told.

Next day they returned to the first camp.

There was another branch of the river that

might be called a short cut to the head

waters. The guides reported the fishing to

26

PLANKING POACHERS

be rather poor but told us of a large pool
near the source where very fine fish could
be taken.

As the Angler was being paddled slowly
along he suddenly remembered that he had
a duty to perform and a report to make.

"Bob/' he began, "tell me please, just
where the mill is on the big river, — the one
that dumps so much sawdust into the
stream."

Bob stopped paddling, shifted his quid,
and giving the Angler a curious look, growled
out: "What in Hell be ye a-talkin' 'bout?
Never was, ain't, and never's likely to be
no sawmill in these diggin's. Lived here
goin' on forty years 'n never seen a log yit.
Some darn fool was a-guyin' ye."

No more he said. No more was needed.
The Angler was a poacher, — a common
•poacher! This Angler, who had never
poached anything but an egg and who had
never before knowingly broken a law. And
he had even gone so far as to plank his fish
on the painted sign! And Billy was a
poacher, too, only he did not know it.

When once more at home the Humble
Angler wrote to the Major and thanked him
for his delightful trip, expressing his appre-
27

REMINISCENT TALES

ciation of all that had been done for himself
and companion.

A postscript was added: "Professional
and Official. The salmon taken from the
river were found to be in remarkably good
condition. No ill effects from the sawdust,
that might be found in the waters, were de-
tected."

28

A Day of Daze

When Dr. Henshall said, "Inch for inch
and pound for pound, there is no gamier
fish in American waters than the small-
mouthed black bass/' the tribute was well
deserved. Dr. Henshall is always right in
whatever he asserts or writes about in his
charming way.

The Humble Angler, for years an ardent
admirer and follower of his teachings, has
become as enthusiastic as his master. Most
unexpectedly the opportunity came enabling
him to prove emphatically all his friend and
preceptor claimed concerning the clever
gameness of the black bass.

In the vastness of the Maine forests lies
a wondrous lake. Hidden from view amid
the wealth of pine and fir that borders it
about, one must be familiar with the un-
marked pathways and short-cuts in this
section of woodland to locate it at all. So
secluded and so far from the public high-
way it has remained unknown to the army of
anglers who are content to seek the more
accessible and better known resorts.
29

REMINISCENT TALES

This gem of inland waters has a bewitch-
ing charm of its own, and in contour and
colour differs greatly from the other lochs
that abound in the vicinity.

A narrow, rough, and choked pathway,
hardly worthy of being called a road,
abruptly branches from the highway like
some forsaken and aged trail that might
have been used by lumbermen in the winter
season. It winds up hill and down dell for
at least three miles. In many of the low
places, crossed by small streams, the over-
flow has made muck holes difficult of navi-
gation. The rocky shore of the lake itself
ends the trail.

The observer views a broad sheet of
sparkling, rippling waters, circular in out-
line. At different segments of the huge
bowl masses of thick pine growth throw
deep shadows on the surface. Patches of
white birches give light and color to other
portions, while bending bush bedecks the
lowlands in a medley of vivid greens, pro-
ducing a variety of shadings perfectly
blended.

At first glance this circle gives the impres-
sion of completeness, but careful inspection
shows at either end juttings of thickly wooded

3°

A DAY OF DAZE

headlands, each obscuring a winding, twist-
ing passageway to another lake. Thus is
formed a trio, hard to surpass in beauty.

One who loved nature and appreciated
fully the gifts she bestows had built a com-
fortable camp not far from the shores, where
in this forest and lake-bound retreat he found
restful enjoyment.

A royal welcome was accorded the visi-
tors. Although himself a hunter by choice
he was delighted to place at their disposal
such equipment as he possessed.

A commodious rowboat accommodated
the young lady, her escort, and the guide.
The only other available boat was a sunken
derelict. Emptied and righted, it would
float, but it leaked rather badly. A piece of
rough fence rail and a semblance of an oar,
now aged and infirm, constituted the pro-
pulsive force when carefully and laboriously
manipulated. The bailing was good.

Both boats started at the same time but
in opposite directions. Soon the Angler
drifted out of sight of his companions.
Propelling the skiff as best he could, a splash
among the pads attracted his attention and
a fleeting glance caught the leap of a splendid
small-mouth.

31

REMINISCENT TALES

This token gave hope. Teasing to wind-
ward his porous bark, he cast toward the
pads but not among them. The cast con-
sisted of three flies on No. 6 sproat hooks;
Henshall for the drop; scarlet Ibis, midway;
and Montreal, tail-fly; — in order to ascer-
tain which one might prove to be the favorite.

Breezes rippled the surface just enough,
the sunlight was exactly right, and the day
showed that these elusive warriors were in
the proper mood, for artificial flies were
successful lures. Swift rushes and rises,
sharp strikes and powerful fighting began
and continued.

In a leaky boat, minus a landing net or
anyone to aid him, the Angler became too
occupied to make any changes in his tackle
had he so wished, as a school of excited and
large fish began to leap all about and near
the lily-pads. Years of experience made it
possible for him to keep calm and work
carefully, so not a fish was lost.

Act the first ended; for it became obliga-
tory to cry a halt and bail. Truly a strange
metamorphosis had taken place. The fish
taken had been quickly and gently un-
hooked and fell back into their element; but
only in the portion encircled by the frame-

32

A DAY OF DAZE

work of this Van Winkle heirloom. It was
changed to a floating aquarium. And they
were quite happy for they were only semi-
conscious of the fact that they were cap-
tives.

Act the second was but a repetition. So
eagerly and voraciously these strong, active
chaps responded to the lure, thrice a trio
of them needed all care and skill, while many
doubles followed. In the interim the singles
proved worthy antagonists.

Anxious for a good creel and with every
moment taken up, the Angler utterly forgot
two important matters, namely: to count
the fish as they were taken, and to bail.

Bailing was the more necessary, for should
the aquarium sink an accurate knowledge
of arithmetic would prove superfluous. En-
ergy and swiftness of action were demanded.

The Angler bailed and bailed and bailed
some more, yet the lake rather enjoyed re-
turning more quickly than it could be thrown
out of the spongy aquarium. Then he re-
sorted to the arduous procedure of bailing on
one side and using the fence rail on the other.

His strength was not equal to such a
strain and his vessel reeled, pushed her nose
skyward and settled aft.

33

REMINISCENT TALES

Act the third consisted of tumbling over-
board just in the nick of time, and with a
few strokes he shoved her toward the rocky
shore where she caught and stuck.

The weary, wobbly, and wet Angler
waited for his companions. If his matches
and cigars had not been wet, he could have
smoked; if he was thirsty he could drink in
the enchanting scene. Little did he care,
for were not his fish alive and well?

It was not long before his friends spied
him. To them the boat looked as if it had
been swamped.

"Hello there, what's the matter? Fall
overboard?" was shouted by one of them.

"Me? Do you think I fell overboard?
Nothing of the kind. Been in swimming.
Draw near, pretty ones, draw near. I've
something to show you."

This they did and gazed upon the treasures
that the aquarium held at close range.

A chorus of exclamations arose in a mo-
ment. A free translation follows:

"Bully for you, old chap!"

"Oh, how splendid!"

"Why didn't you leave a few?"

"Gee, look at that whale!"

"Well, I'll bed--d!"

34

A DAY OF DAZE

"Great Scott, what a gang!"

"Best fisherman I ever see!"

"Oh, you poor dear, you are wet through
and through!"

"I'm starved, soaked, and sober," replied
the Humble Angler, as soon as he could
make himself heard above the babel. "Get
ye hence, good people, build the fire and
make ready the grub. I'll be with you in a
jiffy." And so saying, he jumped into the
water and resumed bailing.

Suddenly he had a sharp chill. It was
not due to his wetting, but to fear. He had
counted thirty fish and consequently had
almost broken the law. Not quite, however,
for the fish were still alive. Gently, one by
one, he restored his captives to their rightful
home, only retaining the largest ones and
not more than could be used.

The guide now helped, and combining
their efforts the aquarium was turned on her
side. When she was righted she became
just the leaky old boat again.

Fire, food, a smoke, and a rehearsal of
experiences brought added pleasure. And
as the other members of the party had a
full creel, it was a happy group that rested
'neath the pines until the sinking sun

35

REMINISCENT TALES

warned them that they must start if they
wished to reach the camp before dusk.

The Angler did not care to fish on his
return trip, preferring to devote his efforts
to exhibitions of various methods of rowing,
sculling, and pushing.

Their host was on the lookout and as the
boats drew up alongside the wharf, shouted,
"Had any luck?"

"Luck," replied the Angler, "why it was
great! Never had such fishing in all my
life. Take a look at these, Judge, and see
for yourself. Hold them up, Charlie. Now,
what do you think?"

"Well, well, you are a good fisherman. I
never knew there were such bouncers about,
and I've camped here ten years or so,"
gasped the surprised man.

Again was the story told before they said
"au revo'ir" and they tried to express their
gratitude for the Judge's courtesy. They
departed carrying with them a cordial invi-
tation to come and spend a week, and their
host's promise that he would go along with
them next time.

Pioneers of the Forest

In the small but rather attractive village
of Eustis, Maine, there once lived a family
who became well known to most of the
sportsmen who visited that section of the
country.

The household consisted of Mrs. Andrew
Douglas, her husband, and Joe, an adopted
son. Mrs. Andrew was the personage whose
word was law, and her approval or disap-
proval disposed of every question that agi-
tated the household in its welfare.

Her manipulation of discarded fruit and
vegetable cans, combined with a copious
amount of bean water, as a fertilizer, brought
forth a constant display of gorgeous flowers,
that gave touches of brightness and color to
this simple and neat home.

She was the midwife of the town and when
illness appeared it was due to her notherly
care, combined with a remarkable knowl-
edge of medicinal herbs plus unlimited com-
mon sense, that enabled her patients to im-
prove rapidly.

She was at the head of all the local branches

37

REMINISCENT TALES

of the various societies and associations, and
a devout church woman. In earlier years
she had shared in the kill of big game for
the market and handled weapons as well as
any man ever did.

Perhaps one incident clearly demonstrates
the strength she possessed and her deep
maternal love.

These qualities and the Spartan spirit,
always a characteristic of her personality,
made it possible, when her eldest son met
with an accident, to carry him on her back
seven weary long miles through the snow
to a hamlet where a doctor could take
proper care of him.

It is true that both in speech and manner
this woman of forestland showed a little
roughness, but withal she was a most kindly
soul and well beloved.

Andrew was a renowned moose hunter,
and Joe had the reputation of being the best
guide and woodsman in the state of Maine.

The family sojourned in the summer
months at a most comfortable camp on the
shores of Deer Lake, half way to the King
and Bartlett Lakes. It was customary for
visitors to stop for dinner at their camp on
their tramp to the larger lakes.

38

PIONEERS OF THE FOREST

The Angler first met Mrs. Douglas when
he tarried for a noon meal. Liking the place
far better than any other he had seen, he
chose Deer Lake as headquarters for a
number of seasons.

It became customary each evening for all
of them to gather about a cheery wood fire
and chat over the events of the day. A wee
nightcap was never forgotten just before re-
tiring. Many stories were told of the priva-
tions and hardships of pioneer days all re-
plete in interest and some of them tragic in
character.

For camp wear she selected apparel of
blue and white calico gowns. In wet weather
a man's oil-skin suit, rubber boots, and a
regular fisherman's hat served her needs to
her perfect satisfaction.

When necessary to go to Eustis on a
rainy day she rode, bare back, a raw-boned
ungainly old plug, named "General." This
peculiar combination was inimitable.

Between Mrs. Douglas and the Angler a
warm friendship existed. He called her
"Aunty/' and in return her affection was
expressed by the endearing term of "Son."

Mrs. Douglas received a letter, just pre-
ceding the Angler's annual visit, stating

39

REMINISCENT TALES

that he would arrive quite late at Eustis on
a Saturday evening. Would she see him on
Sunday morning at the hotel?

A small steamer trunk filled the space in
one corner of the room he occupied. A
little wooden box had been deposited on
top of the trunk.

The Angler, attired in pajamas, as he
lounged upon the bed enjoying the delicious
air and the peace of a Sabbath morn, heard
a gentle knocking at the door.

In response to his "Come in," Aunty
swept into the room garbed in her very
best go-to-meeting clothes. On each side
of her face her hair had been slicked down
severely. It was twisted into a hard, small
ball at the back.

Held in position by an enormous black
ribbon bow, a diminutive black bonnet sup-
ported huge red peonies on the right and
left. A black satin dress, supposedly up-to-
date, listed to port and dragged aft to a
marked degree, but fitted perfectly other-
wise. An imitation black lace shawl drooped
from her shoulders. Her hands were par-
tially covered by old-fashioned mitts.

Over her left bosom an emblem of the
Queen's Daughters or something of the kind
40

PIONEERS OF THE FOREST

rose and fell in cadence with her breathing.
Her slightest movement caused a rattling
like the linen spinnaker of an English cutter
makes when a fresh breeze is caught fully.

A profusion of cheap rings intensified the
distorted finger joints. The rattling became
more marked as with folded hands in front
she advanced slowly toward the bed. When
this was reached, she managed to sit half-
way down upon it. Then she gently
smoothed her garments, folded her hands
again, and smiled down upon the Angler.

"Well, Son, how be yer, an' how did yer
winter?" she inquired anxiously. "Yer ain't
be a-lookin' quite pert 'nough to please me;
gess they druv yer too much sence yer went
back agin, didn't they?"

"Aunty, I am all tired out, but you don't
know how glad I am to get here. Holy
smoke! How fine you look! Never saw
you in glad rags before; why, the Queen of
Sheba would become envious if she could
see you now."

The plans for the following day were
talked over, an early start being decided upon.

Nothing ever escaped Aunty's eagle eye
and she spied the familiar wooden box on
top of the trunk.

41

REMINISCENT TALES

"See yer didn't fergit yer med'cin', Son,
did yer? Yer brung alon' last year a box
juss like that 'ere one a-settin' over there
in the corner. It's sure tarnel kind in yer
to thunk on it."

"That's all right, Aunty, but listen. It's
bully good to see you again and to know
that to-morrow we'll be in camp once more.
Let's celebrate. I'll get a hammer, open
the box, pull a cork and mix a wee nippie,
just for luck; how does that hit you?"

"Son, yer allers wuz a gen'rus an' thought-
ful cuss. Now ther hain't be nuthin' in this
"ere world I'd ruther do, but, Son, I can't
do it nohow. I'm superintendent of that

G d Sunday school, an' some one

might ketch a smellin' of my breath."

Oh! the agony that came to the poor
Angler. How much he wanted to laugh yet
did not dare.

The reason given for refusing was a simple
and clear one. Emphasis made it stronger,
and this was as the good woman intended.

A Novel Lure

Although the speckled beauty of the
brook excels all other inhabitants of sweet
waters in loveliness and alertness, in his
omnivorous desire to appease the hunger
dominating his existence all selective tend-
encies are eradicated. Artificial baits and
lures, both weird and strange, hold a re-
markable fascination, although inexplicable.

The Angler in many years of experience
had become familar with the majority of
these gastronomic delights, but chanced to
discover one much more unique and odd than
any of them.

A hearty invitation to visit the summer
home of a good friend — a big-hearted and
generous sort of a chap — had been received
and accepted. The Angler believed him to
be not only an ardent fisherman but a
skilled one.

This impression was derived from all he
told him about a trout stream, its locality
and the number of fish caught.

He offered no suggestions when asking the

43

REMINISCENT TALES

Angler to select everything necessary for
himself and friends during the fishing season.

It became a pleasant duty for the Angler
to do as requested. A rod, reel, line, a few
small hooks, a box of split-shot, and an assort-
ment of favorite flies were selected. The flies
were tied on No. 6 hooks and in bunches of a
half dozen of each kind. A few leaders added
made the outfit quite complete.

The Angler left on a Friday afternoon and
arrived at his friend's house that evening.
It was a comfortable shack not far from the
ocean. Plans for an early start were made be-
fore they retired. Enumerating just what
the outfit contained he handed it to his host.

During the night it rained hard. The
sportsmen arose at daybreak, had breakfast,
and made a start as soon as a sleepy old nag
could be harnessed into an old-fashioned but
comfortable buggy.

After a somewhat lengthy drive a farm-
house was found where they changed their
shoes for long rubber boots and left the team
in the barn. They walked from the house
to the brook. When it was located the bush
growth proved to be extremely thick and no
chance to cast at all.

The utter astonishment of the Angler may

44

A NOVEL LURE

be imagined when Ned stepped calmly into
the stream and began wading toward its
source. He could say nothing, but naturally
followed.

They emerged shortly into an open
meadow and here there was plenty of space
and one decent pool.

The Angler suggested to Ned that he whip
this pool most thoroughly, while he would
follow the stream higher up and ascertain
the lay of the land.

This he did, finding that the brook be-
came smaller and smaller and almost hid-
den by long grasses. To try flies seemed use-
less. A small foot bridge made of two planks
attracted his attention. A fair amount of
water flowed underneath.

He now removed the leader and substi-
tuted a baited hook. Crawling near enough
to toss it into the brook, a trout was taken,
so he kept on until he had half a dozen. These
were sufficient for lunch and he stopped fish-
ing, leisurely wandering toward the pool.
The stream he decided was only a brooklet,
having its source among the hills. There
were no other pools.

Ned, The Fisherman, was still sitting on
the bank, the sun at his back, bobbing the

45

REMINISCENT TALES

line up and down, down and up — earnest,
serious, and intense.

"What luck, Ned?" asked the Angler.

"Nothing yet," he replied.

"What are you fishing with?"

"Flies," he answered.

It was the actual truth. A sinker had been
fastened to the leader and the entire bunch
of brown hackles secured to the middle loop.
Bobbing them up and down patiently await-
ing the appearance of a hungry trout.

To entice still more this dreamland beauty,
his shadow cast itself upon the water, and
being a large man this shadow was of broad-
ened dimensions.

Still the mighty fish absolutely scorned the
six brown hackles and the cooling shade.
Very strange indeed, very strange.

The Angler did not laugh. HE DID
HAVE A PAIN, just where is immaterial.
He was far from home and the way back was
unknown, so he did not even dare to smile.

"Too bad, too bad, but never mind, here
are enough for lunch," he simply said.

"Let's see 'em," interrupted Ned.

The creel was opened, the little fish were
in rigor mortis but still beautiful in coloring.

"What are they?" Ned inquired. The
46

A NOVEL LURE

Angler heard not, for a moment he turned
his back, lit a cigar, and silently prayed for
strength.

Finally he answered, "TROUT."

"Oh," murmured the exhausted host, "I
never saw one before."

"It's too hot to fish longer; let's go back
and try the ocean," coughed rather than
spoke the Angler, for the cigar smoke choked
and nearly made him weep.

"All right," Ned agreed. He looked hot
and tired but intensely relieved.

When in church or during a funeral service,
or a companion breaks every tradition of
piscatorial law and a person tries to stifle a
powerful laugh, because it is not good man-
ners to show others you happen to be amused,
then the suffering that the Humble Angler
underwent can be more fully understood.

Two things bothered him and never were
explained. Why, rubber boots were worn
where there was not water enough to have
filled them, and what became of the six
brown hackles?

A task remained. Ned must be taught to
use flies properly. Fortune smiled this time.
A brackish river flowed lazily, quite near the
shack. Its waters abounded with white

47

REMINISCENT TALES

perch. Shrimps were tried first, then flies
substituted. The perch rose readily. Ed-
ward profited by this first lesson. He caught
fish quite in the right manner and enjoyed it
immensely.

The Angler saw a large school of young
pollack in the bay the following morning.
Casting 'mid the waves among them, a
number were obtained. The school soon
sought deeper water. He suggested to Ned
that they take a boat and follow them, but
nothing would induce Edward to abandon
his secure post on the pier, so the Angler went
alone and Ned watched him.

Both joined a fishing club in Canada, later
in the year. Ned became a most enthusias-
tic sportsman, and, in time, an expert.

Delightful trips in different seasons were
taken by them. The Angler never men-
tioned the incident. Today it is a pleasant
thought for him to remember that he did not
strike the gaff when his host demonstrated
that new and novel lure.

White Perch De Luxe

Two men in a boat — this particular boat
being a canoe. A girl was there also because
she had been invited, and she made three in
this canoe, as you can see plainly —

The Girl— The Angler— The Guide.

The guide very naturally gave his entire
attention to the charming guest, as he was
young himself.

It was an exquisite morning in August. A
brilliant blue sky, pleasant sunshine be-
stowed comfortable warmth, while gentle
breezes made the shadows of flying clouds
dance on the surface of the waters.

The lake itself was a rare gem of woodland.
Great and small islands imparted a pleasing
diversity of color and outlines. At various
places the irregular shore line formation
spread into beaches of pebbled sands or
massed in ledges the high rocks boldly jutted
far out from the shores.

Here and there patches of white birches,
bursts of meadow land or dense bush growth

49

REMINISCENT TALES

lent their charms. High hills, their slopes
thickly studded with compact foliage of vivid
greens, arose from the water's edge.

To an observer successive rapid turnings
and windings, all replete in beauty, begat
surprises.

A broad flowing river forms the outlet.
Along its banks myriads of handsome pond
lilies bloomed, filling the air with their
fragrance.

This stream wends its quiet way for miles
and miles through meadow lands. At irregu-
lar distances diminutive ponds or mud ponds,
as they are styled, are formed.

In most of them, en masse, these delicate
pond lily flowers, blossom and fade unseen
save by the winged life of woods and waters.

(Lilies begin to shut up at I P. M., and not
i A. M., as human beings do.)

The waters teem with large white perch,
larger pickerel, and the ordinary pond fish.

A white perch, as far as his strength per-
mits him to be, is a dead game fish. When
schooling, they are extremely lively and in
chasing small fry well near the shore, make
the water buzz in their hunger-rushes.

They rise to a fly or take a bait in a raven-
ous manner but only for a brief time, then

50

WHITE PERCH LE LUXE

suddenly stop and can not be tempted again
until late in the afternoon.

When about, gulls are excellent guides.
Where they are seen hovering or diving,
that's the place where the perch are feeding.

The spot chosen for fishing was at the end
of a small baylike curvature skirting the edge
of pads and long grasses.

It's good fun to cast small flies for hungry
white perch; but not difficult, as they strike
sharply.

Rather small flies, say No. 8, bright in
coloring, are well taken. The Angler chose
a light-wing Davis, Parmachenee belle and
a Montreal. The young lady, a King of the
waters, Scarlet Ibis and a Brown hackle.

When this daughter of Neptune struck a
fish immediately she landed him. Fre-
quently she had two on the cast and twice a
trio responded. She did not lose a single fish,
for her gallant guide stopped flirting with her
and flirted the fish very carefully into the
boat. The Angler allowed his cast to fill each
time before teasing the captives near the boat.

White perch are the most delicious of the
food fishes that inhabit sweet waters. That
morning all that were needed were taken in
a clean and sportsmanlike fashion.

51

REMINISCENT TALES

There was a pretty little camp quite near
at hand, almost hidden among young white
birches. The clever owner blasted the rock
formation, making a landing from a canoe a
simple and safe thing to accomplish.

The intention of the outing party was to
rest and wait for the afternoon fishing, but
this intention was never fulfilled.

Just before embarking in the morning, Miss
Neptune confessed frankly that she was
scared to try a canoe. Gratified and inter-
ested thoroughly when she realized her
teacher was being beaten, her fears vanished.
Once she arose to her feet and attempted to
walk from the stern to the bow.

The guide warned her just in time. How-
ever this lesson was forgotten when my lady
fair wished to gather lilies before the after-
noon start was made.

The canoe, the maiden, and the solicitous
guide set out to gather fragrant flowers.
Anxious to collect a goodly quantity, she for-
got each time that the wrist watch worn on
the reaching-out arm took a bath each and
every grab she made for the desired flower.

Not being familiar with the tenacity of the
long, slippery stems she hung on too long
and too hard, and as a consequence she pulled

52

WHITE PERCH LE LUXE

herself overboard before the guide could
prevent.

Fortunately the water was not deep.
Rather a mess for a time, but the shore was
made, the lilies saved, while the dampened
lady laughed, exclaiming emphatically:

"Anyway, I did get the one I wanted and
I never let go of it either/'

This was true too. No harm followed the
ducking. Little things akin to this incident
never trouble a true fisherman or a fisher-
woman.

White perch unusual in size, pond lilies of
superb fragrance and beauty, and the addi-
tion of a refreshing bath certainly created
a piscatorial de luxe fancy, complete in each
detail.

53

Where Chasms Frown

In her wheezy efforts to maintain headway,
an asthmatic tug boat tickled the waters of
Puget Sound into smothered laughter. Her
worn-out appearance branded her as a relic
of better days.

This particular craft had been hired by the
Humble Angler to convey him from Portland
to the breeding grounds of the Salmon and
the Rainbow trout. It was the only vessel
that could be chartered.

From the peculiar actions of "Kate Long"
and those of her captain, engineer and crew —
the crew being composed of the aforesaid
individuals — the Angler came to the conclu-
sion that an explosion, a sinking, or a part-
ing in twain might at any moment disturb
the placidity of the voyage, and this convic-
tion was strengthened when he observed on
the part of both officers and crew a strict
obedience to the laws of navigation, fre-
quently demonstrated by partaking liberally
of a mixture of whisky and sherry wine.

Then things changed. The engineer in-
sisted in confiding to the lonely passenger the

54

WHERE CHASMS FROWN

secrets of his life, the recital affecting him
strongly, and caused weeping. While he wept,
sleep overcame him and the passenger de-
parted.

The captain then caught sight of him and
invited this worried being to join him in the
pilot house. Would he take the wheel for
a while?

"Certainly," was the answer. The zigzag
wake of the tug made it imperative that the
course should be made known.

"Keep the damn thing in the middle if you
can," the captain half snored and sank to
slumber. Then the timid passenger became
— the captain, the engineer and the crew until
he was later on relieved.

At the hour of the Angelus, Katie Long,
exhausted and worn, pushed herself against
the fragile pier of Rockyledge.

The proprietor — the head bellboy — all the
bellboys — the cook, the clerk — the hostler—
the porter and the other employees of the
Inn — extended a welcome to the newly arrived
guest.

"I'm Jim Macey and run this hotel, but
'bout here they call me Goggles. Glad to
meet you. What might your name be?"

The soaked mariners, having become in-

55

REMINISCENT TALES

ternally dry once more, simultaneously
shouted "Hello, Goggles." A hand wave
and "Hello, Boys," acknowledged this salu-
tation.

The following morning the landlord was
informed by his only guest the reason why
he had come to Rockyledge Inn, and then
was asked by him where the best fishing
could be found.

Macey suggested a river — not far away
where Rainbow trout abounded — that might
be tried first. The simple, clearly given di-
rections were easy to follow. The Angler
decided to give this place a trial.

The hike proved to be a long one before he
heard the song of rushing waters. The gleam
of an ideal stream, seen through the vistas,
tingled his nerves with pleasurable anticipa-
tion.

A test of skill followed the taking of an
alluring fly by a leaping Rainbow. Unheeded
were both time and locality. The daylight
began to fade. Once more upon the high-
way, he started, as he supposed, towards the
Inn.

As twilight quivered he walked persever-
ingly on and on. The road seemed to have
lengthened since the morning's jaunt.

56

WHERE CHASMS FROWN

Approaching him he discerned a young
man, twenty-five or twenty-six years of age.
He carried a rifle in his hands. A cartridge
belt encircled his waist. A haversack was
strapped to his shoulders: all suggesting that
he might be on a hunting trip.

"Will you kindly tell me how far it is to
Rockyledge?" the Angler inquired.

"Why, stranger, you're headed wrong.
Reckon you don't know these parts. Too
late to get there to-night, it will be so dark in
half an hour you couldn't see the road. Bet-
ter let me put you up 'til morning and then
I'll straighten things out."

The Angler thanked him and accepted.
As they trudged along together the highway
was forsaken, until his companion took the
lead, when entering into the mazes of a thick
grove.

"Don't you think we'd better take a bite,
stranger?" he quietly remarked, as he stopped
beneath a large tree — dense in luxuriant foli-
age— placing his rifle within easy reach and
opening his haversack.

The famished Angler replied that food
would be most acceptable. Starting a fire,
some of the fish were quickly cleaned and
broiled. The meal satisfied their hunger.

57

REMINISCENT TALES

Instead of continuing the tramp, the
younger man began to gather grass and leaves
out of which he constructed a rude couch.
As he finished, turning towards his compan-
ion, he remarked:

"Stranger, it will be far wiser for you to
know the truth. This grand old tree that
shelters us for to-night at least is our home.
It's like this: A short time ago I killed a man.
The act was in self-defense.

"It happened far away from here. As I
had no proof of my innocence, I thought it
wiser to disappear for a time. The people in
the neighborhood knew a feud existed be-
tween the dead man and myself.

"Suspicion will fall on me. Had I not
fatally winged him at the first shot, he would
have killed me. Now you know the facts.
Suppose a posse has started hunting for my
scalp, it's not likely they can find me.

"Wiser though not to be caught napping,
so I'm careful. You lie down and try to get
a wink of sleep. If you hear shots, just keep
quiet, for even if they did find you no harm
would come of it and I should have made a
get-away all right. Tell 'em you got lost, met
a chap who brought you here, and then lit
out. Good-night. ' '

58

WHERE CHASMS FROWN

At daybreak they retraced their steps to
the highway. At parting, the fugitive laugh-
ingly commented, "I have no name and you
never met me. I have thoroughly enjoyed
your companionship. Good luck go with
you!"

Goggles had started to find the Angler and
they met on the road. "Where in Hell have
you been? I thought you were drowned/'

The bed in the Angler's room looked most
inviting.

The Angler wished to study both Salmon
and the Rainbow trout in their native waters.
He talked matters over with Macey.

"So you want more of it, do you?" said
Goggles. "Well, by Jupiter! You have the
nerve. I'll take you to just the right spot.
Wait 'til I hitch up old Major and we'll go
along. Won't do to let you roam 'bout
alone."

The road along the edge of a high plateau
was rough and nearly hidden by grass growth.
It ran towards the North in almost a straight
line. An easily forded, broadened brook
crossed the highway. They halted among the
mighty trees of an immense grove. A deep
ravine made an abrupt descent of nearly

59

REMINISCENT TALES

fifteen hundred feet from the edge of this
plateau to the banks of a stately river.

In the shadows of giant cliffs, its waters
were of indigo hue save where they crashed
against huge boulders in snowlike froth.

Such wondrous beauty challenged even an
inadequate description. A strip of sandy
shore bordered the water's edge, providing
an excellent spot for perfect fly casting.

No need of recording the methods em-
ployed in undertaking the somewhat hazard-
ous descent.

The Angler tarried, securing a goodly
number of fine fish. It did not please him at
all to have Macey shout suddenly and
loudly:

"By Jinks! there's a fellow coming to see
me today; I forgot all about it. You stay as
long as you like. The big pool is just be-
yond that first bend. When you're ready
old Major will get you home all right.

"I'll take a short cut back. Hope you
don't mind my leaving you? So long and
good luck."

The Angler was startled by the sound of

voices, while resting for a while. Half a

dozen men emerged from the brush. All of

them carried long poles with a spear-like at-

60

WHERE CHASMS FROWN

tachment. He ascertained soon that they
were engineers, surveying for a railroad cor-
poration. All were graduates of Harvard.

They asked him to join them spearing sal-
mon, if he cared for the sport. In single file
a sinuous course was followed, on the side of
the largest cliff that would take them to the
great pool.

All of the young men wore spiked shoes
and secured good footholds. No real path
existed. The Angler followed as best he
could.

Heavy waters poured incessantly over a
high, broad, natural dam. Both salmon and
trout lurked below, awaiting their chance to
leap the fall.

Several days of continued torrid weather
had caused melting snows from a distant
range of mountains to augment the volume
of water in the river, making it impossible for
the salmon to leap well above the dam.

The strong current knocked about these
fish and many of them fell back again into
the pool. In this way the chance opened for
spear play that often ended in a kill.

Although greatly interested, the Angler
realized that he could tarry no longer.
Shouting a good-bye he began his return
61

REMINISCENT TALES

journey, but suddenly slipped when in sight
of the place where he had been fishing.

He tried to save himself. It was in vain.
Towards the bottom of the ravine he rolled
over and over. A fair-sized tree, felled by a
stroke of lightning, saved his life most for-
tunately.

His trousers caught on a branch, tearing
them badly, but enabling him to hold on
tightly when he forcibly struck the tree. The
rest of the way he crawled on his hands and
knees.

On his way homeward, with the sky as a
background, three sharply defined silhouettes
held his attention. Indians! War bonnets,
war paint, rifles, and addenda. The Angler
was scared. His fears were without founda-
tion.

They passed on their way without giving
him a glance. That evening, when he related
the incident, Macey told him that once in a
long time the Indians of that part of the
country had a war dance and a big pow-wow.

The next day the Angler returned to Port-
land, but not with "Katie Long."

62

Frolics of the Silver Kings

Amid the mazes of the Floridian Ever-
glades a stream has its source that forms a
river when augmented very gradually by ad-
ditional waters from adjacent swamps, many
of these being of immense size.

It meanders in tortuous windings and con-
tortions along its banks of moss-draped,
stunted tree growth, or through lowlands of
barren soils and scattered sections of marshes.

Mantles of luxurious and vividly green
lily pads hide the ugliness of its sluggish,
vacillating progress. As the sea level is
finally approached its pace quickens, espe-
cially when the ebbing tidal waters exert
their influence.

A high embankment has been formed by
the powerful rushing strength of the Ocean's
billows upon an immense stretch of brightly
gleaming sands, that serves, save where a
breakage occurs when salt and sweet waters
unite, as a strong sea wall.

A mile or two back from the river's mouth

63

REMINISCENT TALES

a good-sized lake has formed in a natural,
broadened hollowing out of the soil.

It is deep in some places. In the lake it-
self the force of the tides is felt strongly, but
entirely lost above the point where the river
empties into the brackish waters of this pe-
culiarly freakish distortion.

The adjacent marshes are overflowed when
a strong flood dominates.

As the ebb begins and rushes again sea-
ward in as active a manner as marked its in-
coming, the amount of water dwindles per-
ceptibly.

While at Palm Beach, the Angler learned
that a school of young Tarpon — better known
as Silver Kings — had been seen in this locality
early that morning.

Fort Lauderdale, a trading station on the
river, not a great distance from Palm Beach,
was the most available starting point.

The Angler procured a skiflf here and with
his guide hurried on to the lake. A supply of
mullet had fortunately been obtained, so
there was no delay.

A number of sportsmen, their boats an-
chored at the nearer end not far from the
opening, were in waiting.

Beneath Southern skies, this typical day

64

FROLICS OF THE SILVER KINGS

of an early Spring was bathed in a wealth of
burnished sunshine, whose splendors even
tinged the soft, mild breezes laden with odors
of the Ocean.

As the crimson sun blazed down upon the
tremulous surface of the loch the peaceful
scene in an instant becomes transformed.

Lethargy vanished, replaced by the mag-
nificent active play of silvered forms leaping
high in the air, shaking from their gleaming
bodies rainbowed mists as by hundreds, in
riotous dashing, jumping and diving, their
hosts forsook the extreme end of the lake and
advanced in aeroplanic formation, seeking
their home waters once more.

Fountains of water splashed everywhere
as they rushed blindly among the boats. All
of them became frightened at the same mo-
ment, dove deeply, and whirled through the
pass into the river.

Such a bewildering and marvelous finale
to this aquatic gaiety astonished the specta-
tors beyond the power of expression. The
act itself and the actors will never be for-
gotten.

That a person can entirely lose self-control
under excitement was demonstrated in an
amusing incident.

65

REMINISCENT TALES

An erratic individual, who early in the day
had forsaken his companions and gone to the
other end of the lake, gave chase when the
players started the game, hurling his bait
after them and madly shouting:

"Stop them! Stop them! For GOD'S
sake, don't let 'em get away!"

The Angler, hoping a chance might still
come to take a Tarpon, remained at the trad-
ing post.

When the moon is full, and only the moon,
it is a most excellent time for night fishing.

A motor boat was commissioned, the skiff
attached, and the first moonlight excursion
made its debut.

The skipper had mentioned that blue fish
very frequently came into the lower part of
the river on a floodtide; so a wide-awake
Angler, while on their seaward way, trolled
for them, using a hand line and a fair-sized
metal fish.

Even the man in the moon laughed at Na-
ture's moving picture of two instantaneous
leaps (exquisitely shown, although Mr. Fox
was not present at the time).

A splendid Tarpon threw himself entirely
out of the water, at the hook end of the line,
then shaking himself free disappeared into the
66

FROLICS OF THE SILVER KINGS

glorified wavelets of the moonbeam's path-
way.

The Angler had perched himself upon the
part of the deck that projected into the cock-
pit and given the line two extra twists about
his hand. The leap he made landed him
squarely on the astonished skipper's head.

The metal fish had split in twain, twisted
into distorted curlings. For many days a
swollen and bruised hand required the An-
gler's attention.

He felt intimately acquainted with this
paterfamilias,, although unable to even catch
sight of him.

Sulking Samsons

A piscatory pibroch must have drowned
the pastor's voice when the Togue was
christened, or a bunch of names sticking like
prickly burrs were hurled pell-mell at him.

He is the same old Togue whether or not
his aliases be Namaycush, Lake Trout, Lunge
Siskowitz, Lake Salmon, Salmon, Trout,
Mackinaw Trout, Fresh Water Cod, Black
Trout, Pot Belly, the Tyrant of the Lake, or
any of the others.

He eats well, sleeps well, and attains re-
markable weight. Like the Brook Trout he
has spots on his body, but they lack in bril-
liancy of coloring. If an angler informs you
he has caught a twelve-pound trout, that
trout is a Togue.

These fish become very active soon after
the ice goes out in early Spring, and will take
a trolling lure quite near the shore. As the
weather grows warmer they seek deeper
waters and become sluggish in action.

The best that can be said of this moody,
powerful fish is that he is excellent eating,
68

SULKING SAMSONS

when cooked properly. The worst, he never
rises to a fly.

Of all baits the most alluring is a fair-sized
minnow, so impaled on an Archer spinner
or two hooks, that on a swiveled leader it
revolves well. A small sinker should be at-
tached to the line when the water is quite deep.

Seth Green tied a sinker to a piece of string
and the string to the line, just above the
leader — a most excellent and clever rig. If
the sinker catches among the rocks, a pull
breaks the string and saves the tackle. The
sinker keeps touching bottom but always al-
lows a good length of free line.

A few hints may not be amiss to those of
you who have not attempted the capture of
these voracious, vicious villains.

When a sharp tug is felt, give plenty of
time, for Many Names likes to chew a bit be-
fore he swallows. When you strike make it
hard and strong. He will make a long run
when well hooked, so let him go as far as he
likes.

He will halt, sulk, pull back and grunt,
shaking his old head and begins to get mad
as you reel in. Then he makes another run
and sulks some more. He keeps up this
sort of thing until he is tired out.

REMINISCENT TALES

Always remember never to give him any
slack. When he sulks, keep the line taut, but
do not try to reel in by force, for he is heavy
and powerful, and will break the line easily
if too much strength is used.

Hooks should be large and of good mate-
rial. Big spoons, baited, spoons with the
largest flies, or hooks with pieces of pork or
pork rind, worms, fish, and raw meat make
excellent lures.

Troll in rather deep water near ledges or

rocky shores.

* * * *

Once upon a time the Angler played the
goat to perfection.

While at a camp in Maine, where the fish-
ing was excellent, a friend told him that in
the neighborhood there was a lake abounding
with Togue. Being an ardent fly caster he
never had even tried for them, and was anx-
ious to ascertain what they were like. His
friend insisted that he should borrow his
tackle.

The rod was as heavy as one used for sal-
mon but shorter. The reel looked huge and
held a lot of line. The arrangement of hooks
was wild and weird, but considered neces-
sary.

70

SULKING SAMSONS

Explaining that these fish were strong and
of tremendous size, he warned the Angler
that plenty of time should be given them to
take the baits well into their mouths.

The entire line might be taken in a rush
and one had to be extremely careful.

The Angler began to get a little worried.
He had never seen such an equipment and
never knew that such fish were to be found in
sweet waters.

The stuff was packed and a hike made to
this lake. It was a delightful tramp. A
rough cabin was found near the shore that
would shelter them. No time was wasted in
getting started.

They paddled along quite a distance with-
out having a strike. Suddenly the Angler
felt a strong yank and the line began to run
out very rapidly. He struck and struck
sharply; the line ran faster and faster.

"He tarn beeg chap/' the guide murmured.
No comment was made on his part, for he
was both busy and scared. Not a sign of a
fin, yet the line kept running fiercely and then
howled. Seeing it had almost run out he
asked the guide to cease paddling. The mo-
ment the strain lessened the Angler reeled
and reeled and then reeled some more. The

REMINISCENT TALES

strike had been sure. The body of the victim
bristled with every one of the hooks.

A miserable old Log!

The Angler returned to camp, did some
thinking, strung up an ordinary rod and se-
lected a trolling lure. His fears had vanished.

Later on he took two fish without any
trouble at all and the next day caught half
a dozen. This ended his enchantment.

72

The Togue's Remarks

I am stubborn, I am sulky,

But my appetite is good;
So Fm underweight but seldom,

Though I'm rarely understood.
For my moods, they differ greatly:

In the summer I am still;
While, in early days of springtime,

My emotions make me thrill.
At my jumping Fm a stunner,

And no angler can seduce,
Till I get right good and ready,

When — I often slip a-loose.
For I know a thing in rushing,

When I wish to let off steam,
Fm a wonder; yes, by thunder,

Fm a college football team.
Yes, I know a thing in rushing,

Know just how to break a line;
And for clinging to live bait, sir,

Who can match the knack that's mine?
So I often fool those "Waltons,"

As they think they have me sure,
When Fm simply, of a rumpus,

Playing soft my overture.

73

REMINISCENT TALES

Some day, may be born a sportsman

Who at once will know my game,
Beat me always; and moreover,

When, alas! at last, I'm tame,
Being weighed out dead, that Villain —

Oh! the shadow of the shame!
Oh; sad gloaming of my glory! —

Then may even change my name;
Or may tell his friends a fable

How he caught me "on the fly;"
But I now, a simple laker,

In advance that boast deny;
And if he would only meet me,

Face to face, in water, why
I would give him in his gullet,

Deep as to his lungs, the lie!
Not with flies am I caught often;

Reason why, I'm far too "fly."

74

Artful Antagonists

The creel of a well remembered day had
been a superb one. Whether pride should
have filled the Angler's soul or shame o'er-
come him is a question far better perhaps to
place the simple facts before you and leave
this matter for your decision.

An old friend of his, Ned by name, ob-
tained possession of a comfortable little cabin
near the Wilson Lakes in Maine. He had
kindly granted its use to the Angler when-
ever he might care to try the fishing in this
section of the country.

Late in the month of June all arrangements
were completed. Two good, true sportsmen
and himself packed their kits and started for
camp.

The guides were waiting at the station, and
as the day was yet young it was decided to
fish a little and stop at some convenient
place on the way to camp for luncheon.

The Angler's particular guardian was one
Herman, by name, a native of a nearby town.
He was long-drawn-out, bow-legged and glo-
rified with an abundance of hair of a brick-

75

.REMINISCENT TALES

dust sheen. His eyes "sot" in their expres-
sion were small, bright, and blue in color.

Before the parting came repeated demon-
strations on his part conclusively proved that
this human totem pole could do three things
remarkably well. First — He made most ex-
cellent coffee. Secondly — He held an entire
and very hot potato in his mouth and con-
versed in his usual piquant manner at the
same time. Thirdly — He never failed to
back a boat in the direction of a striking fish,
thereby kindly giving this dweller of the deep
plenty of slack line and an opportunity to
shake for freedom.

For this specimen of a man, 'hatred began
to surge in the Angler's blood and become so
strong that even murder seemed justifiable.

Camp was made at last. Herman had to
return for most of the supplies. Hours
slipped by. He made his appearance finally.
However, he managed to run the canoe on
top of a rock and upset before reaching the
landing.

Off came the cover of a box of Seidlitz
powders, instantly followed by a churning of
the waters into seething foam in the immedi-
ate vicinity. A pail of butter sank deeply into
the muddy bottom of the lake and never was
76

ARTFUL ANTAGONISTS

found. The eggs tangoed away and every-
thing else became beastly wet and mussed up.

This dress-rehearsal was enough; Herman
was told to saw wood and tend camp. For-
tunately the Angler sent 'cross country for
Joe, his beloved half-breed, who knew things
and knew them well. He came quickly and
then Herman was almost forgiven.

It had been stated that trout of good size
had been caught in certain places of the lake.
These places were most faithfully tried out
but with indifferent success. At the lower
end of the larger lake a high, precipitous cliff
gave every evidence of furnishing an ideal
hiding spot for the larger specimens of these
speckled beauties in the markedly deep
waters bathing its base.

A number of dead landlocked smelts solved
the riddle of such poor fishing. Theoreti-
cally, splendid fish should own property who
lived in such an exclusive neighborhood as a
haunt of this description seemed to warrant.

The Angler firmly believed this to be the
case if only proper lures could be chosen,
and the right method hit upon to tempt the
finny citizens into rising.

Joe was told to get up very early in the
morning and paddle about near the cliff. If

77

REMINISCENT TALES

he saw a fin then at once inform the Angler.
He did as requested and awoke him at sun-
rise.

"I see de big fin near cliff so den we mak a
ketch much/' was his report.

"All right, Lad; get things ready; we'll take
a bite and try our luck," came the reply.

Everything must be in readiness if the fish
were to be aroused and enticed near the sur-
face. A good fly rod was selected.

A Parmachenee Belle and a Brown Hackle
on a strong leader chosen, then the rod
placed in the canoe.

The lures must be uncommon ones in order
to stir up the stubborn chaps. There were
two Burtis's rods out for this trial.

Both had swiveled leaders, two flies and
tail hooks baited with small minnows.

The morning was misty, rainy and cold
enough to make a heavy overcoat a welcome
burden. A keen, stiff blow swept in from all
quarters, and with occasional sharper squalls
made the guidance of the canoe a very diffi-
cult task.

The Angler held a rod in each hand. Joe
circled the canoe. No strikes at all. More
line was payed out, more circling, gave the
same result. Evidently the plausible de-

78

ARTFUL ANTAGONISTS

ductions were utterly wrong. Utter disap-
pointment added its chill to that of the at-
mosphere. One last try and then if no luck
— back to camp.

The other fellows, disgusted with the poor
fishing and doubting greatly the opinion of
the Angler, had gone to another lake quite a
distance away.

Both lines were then reeled in and small
sinkers fastened about a foot above the lead-
ers. Joe paddled very slowly, thus allowing
good lengths of line to slip from the reels.

Then sudden vicious and powerful strikes
came on either side. Deadly earnest ones,
allowing no time to give the butts or the rods
to be held securely.

When the lines were reeled in a little way
they sped again, bringing courage and joy
from the music of the reels.

The Angler never realized before that fish
could pull so hard or travel so fast. They
pulled the canoe into deeper water, making
it hard battling to gain a lee shore again.

Joe had all he could do; and as for the An-
gler he had more than enough: somehow that
heavy overcoat grew heavier and warmer
each moment. It seemed hours before a fish
showed the slightest sign of losing strength.

79

REMINISCENT TALES

The strain lessened at last and they could
be seen turning on their sides. Why the lines
did not cross or the fish remain hooked —
instead of breaking away — never will be
known, but up to date luck lingered.

The Angler had an impression that it was
nearly a year before Joe could lend his aid
and the prize winners brought nearer the
canoe.

First, the right-hand rod received their
united efforts. Three magnificent square-
tails, appearing well nigh exhausted, were
plainly visible.

The Angler secured one, Joe another;
meantime the middle fish shook himself free.

The other rod became easier to handle.
Another trio of fish just as big as their re-
lations. All of them ought to have been
landed, but the tail-ender bumped against
the canoe and vanished.

The sensations of cold and weariness van-
ished also. The net would not hold but two
out of the four vanquished warriors. Their
weight ranged from four and a half to a little
over six pounds. Of course — the two clever
truants who rejoined their loved ones were
the biggest of them all.

This battle was an unusual and exciting
80

ARTFUL ANTAGONISTS

one. Six powerful fish, even if handled well,
offer quite a task. The day passed without
a chance given to use the fly rod; nevertheless
the Angler was perfectly satisfied. His
theory had proven itself to be true.

The fish were outlined on birch bark and
later done in pastels, for a like experience
might never come again, and some record of it
would always be valuable.

His companions had returned to camp and
extended their heartfelt congratulations.
The next day all of them left for home.

An assembly of dead soldiers on the porch
obstructed the view. They deserved a de-
cent burial, having died in a just cause.

Herman was chosen to officiate, receiving
two new and perfectly good dollar bills in
advance.

Mrs. Ned was somewhat of a crank on the
temperance question, and when the family
arrived the brave and gallant knights held
the porch, evidently oblivious of her opinions.

The cabin was never offered again to the
Angler. That awful Herman had gone to
town, exchanged the two dollars for vile
spirits, and then joined a lumber crew.

CURSES ON His HEAD!
81

A Wish As Twilight Falls

Where once the fairy- folk were wont to
weave by magic arts an unseen web about
their citadel of delights, a tiny isle, the gem
of all within enchantment's realm, doth even
at this day yield evidence that Mother Earth
did gladly grant each wish of every sprite,
when touched by wands of gold.

Amid the snow-clad hills gushed forth
crystal waters, tumbling in their new-born
freedom, wafted on the zephyrs, whispers
from forest and meadow called and joyously
they leaped in sparkling foam, eager to give
greeting.

Down the lonely hillside the brooklet in
its purity wavered. Splashing in uncer-
tainty, then gliding onward. Through the
lowlands it meandered, twining in serpen-
tine coiling, its waters resting in soft, peaceful
flowing 'mid banks bedecked with waving
grasses.

Flowerettes of loveliness sprang into life
from its very breath and in thankfulness ex-
haled exquisite perfumes. Bending bush and
82

A WISH AS TWILIGHT FALLS

dainty fern gave welcome as the refreshing
waters invaded their hiding places.

From the summits of adjacent highlands
other rollicking wanderers sought compan-
ionship until, broadly expanding, the might-
ier brook became more sedate and dignified
as toward Neptunian domains its course con-
tinued. Gigantic and stern sentinels of
granite frowned down their displeasure, dis-
puting the right of way.

The crystal tide flowed on. Aroused to
action, in liquid mirth it divided equally its
hosts, spreading on either side of the grim
watchers' open, encircling arms and then,
clasping again, held in its embrace the en-
chanted isle.

The smiling rainbow and the sunset gave
its hue; fleecy clouds and stars of Heaven
mirrored their gleams and shadows as token
of their approval of what the gentle stream
had done. As wild rose petals fold in sleep,
so fell the purple mantle o'er hill and dale.

Restless feathered songsters invaded this
realm and the wee people bade them stay,
lest the harmonies of woodland lack perfec-
tion in their absence.

Years and years have passed into eternity
since the fairies with their retinue of gnomes

83

REMINISCENT TALES

and nymphs have disappeared, but complete
and perfect their handiwork remains. As a
parting gift they bequeathed to mortals this
mystic masterpiece. The hour that now is
striking beholds their treasure gems as ra-
diant as had been their wont in days of yore.

The fays themselves and their magic castle
ne'er were seen by human eye, but one who
came and understood erected a humble shel-
ter. With him peace lingers, an honored
guest.

His wish of the twilight hour is that, when
life's troubled waters close about him, he
may sink into eternal sleep on his dearly be-
loved isle, where the whispering breeze sighs
its lullaby and wild roses — still the flowers of
fairyland — bloom.

When Storms Raged

Far away in the Maine woods there's an
old deserted logging road: it is first seen
starting from the water's edge of a magnifi-
cent lake, then skirting the hillside in crooked
bendings disappears from view.

This was the pathway taken early in the
morning of a brilliant July day by the Angler
and his Indian guide. The guide carried the
canoe and the paddles. The Angler, strung
about with cooking utensils, followed. The
rods tied together he held in one hand; the
grub pail was firmly grasped in the other.

The climb was an arduous one, but when
the summit was gained the reward caused
weariness to be forgotten. Such a dainty,
laughing, sparkling bit of water met the gaze
that its existence might be doubted for a
moment.

The canoe being launched, it was paddled
slowly along the shore. At intervals good
sized trout were taken and they fought well.
Then it began to grow dark without almost
any warning. A thunderstorm appeared to be
near at hand. Curiously, while it was not

85

REMINISCENT TALES

at all cold, it began to snow and snow hard
instead of raining.

The trout lost interest in the flies. A
Sproat hook No. 8 being substituted was
baited with a small piece of the throat of a
fish taken earlier. Two boulders of good
size marked an excellent fishing locality, the
first fish having been taken near them.

The first cast was followed by a sharp
strike at this fish bait. Again and again the
canoe circled. Each turn brought fine fish.
Quite a large party of fishermen were in camp
where the Angler had his headquarters, so
he fished carefully until a sufficient number
had been secured that would satisfy all needs.

All the time the snow fell thick and fast.
As suddenly as it had begun so the storm
ceased, and a brilliant sun blazed forth a
greeting.

The way back to the landing was equally
as steep as the upward ascent had been in
the morning. Securely wrapped into a com-
pact bundle, the fish were strapped to the
Angler's back. A strap was then fastened
about his forehead and attached to this
bundle, his guide telling him it was the In-
dian fashion and perfectly correct.

He may have been right. The Angler
86

WHEN STORMS RAGED

vividly remembers that when once well
started he could not stop and that the trip
was made remarkably quick. He fell in a
heap at the landing and gazed at the sky for
a long time.

He really believes that during this run his
head and neck were lost and only knew he
had the fish, for the bundle was lying on the
ground beside him. After some time the
vanished head and neck pieces returned and
resumed rightful positions.

The indisputable proof — he was smoking
when the guide did appear: The guide
grunted a compliment regarding his ability
to make fast time and he entered into no
argument at all concerning the subject.

Everyone had enough trout to eat at camp.
The creel was not questioned, but the hard
snow-storm was not swallowed as readily

as the trout.

* * * #

It is a general belief that during a thunder-
storm fish, particularly trout, rarely if ever
take a lure.

Three sportsmen and the Humble Angler
accompanied by a photographer were far
away in the wilds of New Brunswick, the
prime object of such a trip being the possi-

8?

REMINISCENT TALES

bility of securing moving pictures of salmon
fishing and camp scenes, to be shown at the
Sportsman's show later on.

The weather had been unbearably hot for
nearly an entire week. It looked like rain on
the day when the return trip began and camp
broken. The skies were overcast.

At noon they halted for lunch and a rest.
The provisions were nearly exhausted. A
small stream quite near the roadway looked
promising for a mess of trout.

It slightly rained and began to blow. The
horses were unhitched and tied to trees. The
canvas kits were made secure underneath the
wagon so that they might keep dry, and none
too soon.

The storm burst and became a furious
tempest. Every one of them was drenched
to the skin in quick time and could get no
wetter.

Despite the wind, terrific lightning and
downpour the Angler and one of the party
started for the stream. A small pool was
found that was fairly well protected by heavy
tree growth.

Here, just out of the full of the squall, the
Angler \yas able to cast a few times and
caught several trout.

88

WHEN STORMS RAGED

Under such circumstances and knowing
his companion to be a novice at fly casting,
he removed the leader and tied on a baited
hook before handing his rod to him. He then
told him to toss it gently into the pool.

The piece of a throat bait proved an en-
ticing lure. His pupil caught enough of the
speckled beauties to make a good meal for
all of them.

The storm still raged on, but most fortu-
nately one of the guides discovered a camp,
where they had an opportunity to change
their clothes, dry their wet duds and cook
the fish.

Besides proving conclusively that the old
belief did not hold true at all times and
places, they had a very jolly time and did not
mind getting damp once more before they
made the village.

Above and Below

The St. Croix River flows between St.
Stephens, Canada, and Calais, Maine.
Thrown across the stream from the mill
properties there is a staunch and well con-
structed dam.

Within the huge mills, on the English side,
the relentless jaws of mechanical demons
seize and devour thousands and thousands
of royal logs, once kings of the forest.

As each victim is fashioned into proper
shape for building purposes the cruel wheels
shriek their joy.

Like snowflakes of the storm, saw-dust in
whirring showers fill the air and falling into
the waters impart to them the tinge of their
own lifeblood.

In its obscured, smoothed pathway of prog-
ress, this silent stream smashes into rapids
in the basin below, as rolling in unbroken
volume over the dam it pours its sheet of
waters.

Beyond the ceaseless din of saw and log,
quite far above the dam — barrels and barrels
of choice vintages — hogsheads, casks, and
90

ABOVE AND BELOW

cases of the elixir of life were huddled to-
gether in the extremely damp cellars of dingy
warehouses on the Canadian banks of the
old St. Croix.

These weighted and sunken submarine
hosts were placed in readiness to be trans-
ported at night to American soil.

The various rope ends remaining after each
carrier had been securely bound, were to be
found in similar and just as wet cellars of
Yankeeland, just 'cross the way — strange
though it might have been.

A change of location — that's all — but a
demonstrable change. In those days of se-
lective sobriety the most ardent dipsomaniac
could obtain enough unadulterated liquid
delight to ensure absolute satisfaction.

In the playground that the river pro-
vided— below the dam — each year the Silver
Horde rested for a brief time. They were
splendid Salmon too, and as valiant in battle
as the Knights of the Round Table in days
of long ago.

Diplomatically speaking, these soldiers of
fortune were absolutely nonpartisan, show-
ing no partiality for either side.

America and England divided equally the
honor of entertaining them as their guests.

91

REMINISCENT TALES

When Al. French was the game warden at
Calais, he urged the Humble Angler most
cordially to visit him and try the Salmon
fishing. The Angler accepted and at the
earliest possible hour arrived in Calais.
French was an excellent fisherman and
guide.

The pools in this river are the quiet places
just back of goodly sized rocks that jut their
heads above the surface.

Before noon of the next day the Angler
had made a kill of two splendid Salmon. A
third struck, but before he was ready for the
gaff the bite of the line caught on a long spike
driven through the center of a piece of timber
that had floated directly on the line, thus
giving him a chance to leap and break away.
While ornamental, the Silver Doctor was not
to his liking.

It is considered most excellent luck to
take two Salmon within a few hours. The
news of this catch spread rapidly among the
townfolk of Calais. The Angler had been
noticed by many people, en route to a studio
where his trophies were to be photographed.

That afternoon later on, French and him-
self sought the river again. This time an-
other skiff was anchored quite a little dis-
92

ABOVE AND BELOW

tance below them. Another sportsman
wished to try his luck; he had a guide with
him. It was difficult to hear pla:nly on ac-
count of the racket that the river makes and
the noise that the mills throw to the winds.

The Angler had made a long cast. Very
suddenly the skiff of the new comer over-
turned and both of its occupants were thrown
into the river. At this moment the Angler
struck a fish — as he supposed — his line began
to run out rapidly. No leap of a fish came;
yet he felt the heavy tug of something strange
and weighty.

The floundering fisherman appeared to be
splashing about in a strenuous and un-
necessary manner. Evidently he was try-
ing to yell important information, but only
a cuss word could be distinguished now
and then. French sensed that something
must be radically wrong and asked the An-
gler to stop fishing and to reel in as fast as
he could. Meantime he cast the skiff free.
The Angler did the best he could to follow
instructions.

The profane gentleman had succeeded in
reaching a rock, where he was deeply engaged
in performing a minor surgical operation on
his trousers and eclipsing any sailor or par-

93

REMINISCENT TALES

rot that ever lived in his vocabulary of aptly
chosen swear words.

While the porpoise act exhibition held the
stage a "popham" fly had floated near and
embedded itself in his trousers. The Angler
had struck hard and securely. Apologies
were exchanged, explanations made, and
peace returned even to the troubled waters.
The fishing ended.

The next morning a local paper contained
a bright article concerning this incident and
stated the weight of this HE fish to be 187
pounds.

ABOVE the dam, a smuggler was caught —
now and then.

BELOW the dam, many a fine salmon was
killed — now and then.

Gone are the salmon.
Gone the good booze.

The old St. Croix — sedately flows on and
on.

94

Surprises

Newfoundland offers much that is inter-
esting, unique and uncommon to its visitors.
The customs and beliefs of the early settlers
are followed religiously, even to minute de-
tails, at the present day.

Stern and rugged natural backgrounds
make the picture, in its entirety, one of se-
verity rather than fascinating beauty. Giant
rocks frown down upon seething, foaming
masses of spray crashed by the billows of an
angry sea against their solid foundations.

The coast is black and bare; stunted tree
growth dots the landscape that cries aloud
in its barren loneliness. Winds that shriek;
storms that terrify; dense fogs that veil
deeply are but appropriate framings. Huge
cliffs and immense sandbanks add a martial
aspect and tone. If on this very soil the War
God had once builded his castle, it would not
have been out of keeping.

That its people who pass their existence on
this island have become reserved and silent
may depend much upon the unseen influences
—always surrounding, always dominating

95

REMINISCENT TALES

— from the cradle to the grave. Tragedies
of a capricious ocean o'ershadow all else.
The goddess of Mirth ne'er tarried here.

This dreadful monotony is only relieved by
the picturesque harbors. Among and on the
sides of the broadened stone formations that
guard the entrances to these restful monads of
a vast wilderness, queer fishing shacks are ob-
served, scattered here and there or often safe
and secure, several are huddled together in a
protected corner. Resplendent in coloring,
high built dories are anchored in quiet waters
or pulled well up on the sands. Drying on
Ferris-like wooden wheels, huge fishing nets
add both a pleasing and ornamental effect.
Beyond the sandy beaches glimpses reveal
the well-kept homes of the fisher folk.

All hamlets are built alike and look alike.
Each domicile has a tiny garden of its own.
Each garden is surrounded by a fence. These
fences charm and fascinate. They excel the
stockades of the days when Indian warfare
existed, in their strength and general appear-
ance.

Such gates — Ye GODS — such gates ! Mas-
sive; stupendous; solid. Absolutely barring an
entrance to the agricultural delights within.
No earthly power can destroy them. Per-

SURPRISES

haps they might serve a better purpose if
they became a part of the armament em-
ployed by safe deposit vaults. The reason
why such fences and why such gates exist
no one knows; gentle-eyed kine are the only
wild beasts about, but 'tis so because 'tis so,
and this is the only perfectly clear explana-
tion.

The people of Newfoundland are thrifty,
taciturn and modest. Their simple homes
are kept immaculate.

Surprise No. i arises, de novo, from the bil-
lows themselves. Seated in one of the dories,
bobbing up and down on the waters, the
smallest flies, cast on curling crests, are
seized by — you will not believe it — seized
voraciously by trout; real, honest, true brook
trout. Hundreds of them, too. Each one
quick as a flash of lightning and agile as a
hawk.

Each year they follow the salmon up the
rivers during the spawning season. Like a
real Lothario they flirt with the tides and
linger until the silver sheen bestowed by
the ocean is lost and the many hued spots
return.

Surprise No. 2 — the color of their flesh is
blood-red; not pink or reddish, but an abso-

97

REMINISCENT TALES

lute blood-red. Their sojourn in the sea has
endowed them with extra agility and keener
attributes. A much more delicious flavor
to the flesh has come from the change in
foods.

Crab River, about twelve miles in length,
empties into the ocean, where the water is
swift and deep, through a narrowed gap. The
three principal pools are the Red, the White
and the Gray. Peculiar colorings of the clays
are marked distinctly, and the names be-
stowed on the cliffs depend upon the most
pronounced hue of the soil out of which they
are constructed.

At the base of these high cliffs the river
forms basins or pools of goodly size and bear
the same cognomens. Lesser pools and ex-
cellent fishing places are scattered about
along the stream. The tree growth in this
section is much more luxuriant, being well
protected.

On a morning after the rainfall of only a
few hours, surprise No. 3 awaits. Where
but yesterday a placid stream flowed
smoothly on, a fierce torrent booms its power.
It is impossible to fish at all in the large pools,
owing to the increased amount of water.
The small pools are not visible. Where one

SURPRISES

had walked along the banks the overflow had
become knee deep.

The length is stated as being twelve miles.
Double surprises, Nos. 4 and 5. The truth
has been hidden and deeply hidden; it is
nearer twelve hundred miles and long ones at
that. You expected to see strips of sandy
shore at least. Nothing of the kind. You
walk on, walk over, fall down upon, hit, scrape,
and curse — the most marvelous collection in
the universe of — pebbles, stones, rocks, boul-
ders, and Giant Causeways to be entangled
with on terra firma.

The fishing for salmon and the big "salt-
ers" is simply glorious sport and well repays
for all annoyances, labor and hardships. As
the waters are wonderfully clear, small flies
should be used.

One morning, equipped with an ordinary
trout rod and tackle, the Angler wished to
ascertain what might be accomplished by
using a No. 12 fly. A location was chosen
where fair sized trout had often been taken,
simply a good trout ground and not a pool
or anything approaching one. Surprise No.
6 hovered in the air. When a cast was made
a goodly salmon flashed in beauty in his up-
ward leap, then speeded up stream. That

99

REMINISCENT TALES

rider of the rapids sprang skyward seven
times. Twice he left but an inch or two on
the line after rapid runs. This intense but
enjoyable suspense lasted in reality just forty-
eight minutes. To the Angler it seemed
hours. Both the victor and the vanquished
fighter were completely tired out when the
contest ended.

Other surprises awaited. The Angler sur-
prised the silent 6^4 feet tall child of the sea
when with stick and string, as Albert desig-
nated his tackle, he caught fifty-seven fine
cod fish.

The conductor of the narrow-gauge rail-
way train surprised all of them. The train
was only three hours late. Doffing his cap
he approached and apologized for being so
tardy, then invited them to the dining car
and had the steward serve delicious sand-
wiches and Bass's ale. A table was ar-
ranged for card playing; then he said, "You
chaps want to smoke, I know, so go ahead, for
no one will disturb you."

The Inspector asked if the trip had been a
pleasant one while he chalked the luggage
without requesting to have it opened. He
handed $15.00 to the Angler, this being the
amount of a deposit for the rods when start-

100

SURPRISES

ing for Crab's River. At the time he asked
the Angler if he thought his tackle was
worth as much as that. There being three
salmon rods, four fly rods, two trolling rods,
one tarpon rod, reels, flies, lines and a lot
more stuff, the Angler replied "yes."

Last surprise of all. The good and kind
Inspector had a package that he asked the
Angler to accept with his compliments, say-
ing, "It will prevent sea-sickness and do you
lots of good/' And it did.

May you all be able to visit Newfoundland!

101

An Indian Legend

The Humble Angler passed his vacation
days for many years at Grand Lake, Maine.
A pleasant friendship followed between the
Indian guide and himself. Sabattis grew
more communicative, and when in the
proper mood and atmosphere told him sto-
ries and legends of his people. The following
narrative is selected out of a goodly number,
as its setting is familiar to many sportsmen.

Night's mantle had begun to fall o'er the
quivering waters of Grand Lake. A glorious
day had bestowed more than an excellent
creel; and belated on this account, it had
grown quite dark before they embarked in
the birch bark canoe, homeward bound. The
stars began to gleam. The restless cries of
loons, the hoot of owls, the gentle rippling
of waters, and the soft swish of blade were
woven into one of Nature's lullabies.

Save in outline, Sabattis could hardly be
discerned. The magnetic influences of the
hour welded themselves into a swinging
song expressed in spoken words, soft and low,
that kept the paddle's cadence.
102

AN INDIAN LEGEND

"Wus long time 'go my grand-dad's dad
he tell my granddad, my granddad he tell my
old dad, an ' he tell me, an ' my dad he heap
old man when he tell.

"Way down dis big, big lake dere's little
island. She much more big long time 'go
dan she am now. Good Indian he lived dere
in wig-warn, had squaw an' three papoose.
He great hunter. He beaver know. He trap
lot, big beaver king.

"Some day he no hunt. Stay home, make
garden, plant much. Keepa cow, keepa hoss,
keepa pig. One day he work way off in field.
Squaw she 'tend papoose in wig-warn. Down
lake cum floatin' big tree, much branch,
much leaf, on him.

"He float slow. He cuma nearer an' nearer
where landin' was. You look at tree — you
see nuthin'. Your eye he wrong. You look
sharp — you see. Leaves dey cover up pretty
good. More half dozen bad Indians dere.
All painted. War paint. On war path,
'udder tribe 'nudder men, bad men, steal,
kill, no good. No see 'tall, keep still.

"All time keep pushin', push big tree make
him go island. Keep still all time. Den big
tree he cum 'shore. He stay dere — bad In-
dian he make no noise, just wait. All sudden
103

REMINISCENT TALES

give war whoop run up wig-warn kill squaw,
kill papoose, set fire all 'round fore Beaver
King cum, den when he run down, ketch
quick.

"Too much him fight, he no tomahawk,
no knife, no nuttin'. Tie him up, tie him
tight, take 'way, wait on shore. Great big
canoe she cum 'cross lake, den all get in.
Throw Beaver King in too. Paddle like
Hell, run way 'fore good braves see. Nudder
tribe all bad men live way off.

"Sometime cum down lake steal much,
much kill, much burn, much scalp get. Some-
time good brave he ketch him, den big fight.
Good brave he better fight dan bad brave.
Bad brave he no get home a'tall. All dead,
no matter wait, wait long time cum some
more. Dis time bad brave no ketched, take
Beaver King way off in woods.

"Den snow he cum an' cold he freeze up
water all round an' big hungry he cum too.
Game he gone. Well by an' by get to own
camp. Udder braves no home all gone hunt.
Nuthin' left to eat. Big Chief stay in wig-
wam, he old, old man. Squaw, she left;
papoose, he left; no dog left, dog he all eat
up long time.

"Big Chief glad see Beaver King, get heap
104

AN INDIAN LEGEND

glad — Big Chief he say show beaver kill, me
no kill you, me make big man in tribe an'
me have you live here all time — Beaver King
he say he do but he no tell all he tink — not
much.

"Beaver King told Big Chief he no do
'cept he free, den he go hunt. He no forget
he wait, he watch much. Next day he ask
chief give sharp tomahawk den go beaver
kill, much he say he kill. All braves he want
go too, for much food get right way.

"Big Chief he tink all right now, so tell
go. Beaver King he go an' all udder braves
go too. Find big big river. He froze hard,
he froze thick too.

"Beaver King he cut big hole great big
hole in ice. He tell one brave stay here
watch out he beaver call, den put head way
down hole an ' listen long time. When hear
beaver come, wait 'ill he stick head way out
den kill.

"Beaver King take nudder brave do same
ting. No one see udder one — too far 'way.
When braves all fixed up, Beaver King he go
see first man, den he puts head in hole — make
funny noise — call beaver. Den say listen
an ' hear beaver come. Man he puts head in
hole.

105

REMINISCENT TALES

"Beaver King, he strike hard he strike
quick. He kill, he scalp quick, den go next
man do same ting. By an' by bad braves all
dead. Beaver King he tie up scalps, kill two
fat beaver, den put beaver on back go back
see chief.

"Give Chief beaver tell all braves cum soon
now, plenty beaver. Big Chief he glad, tell
squaws cook right 'way. Tell Beaver King
he great hunter — give present he go get in
wig-warn. Beaver King he go too, hit chief
in head, tie up to tree, tie much tight, den
make fire, damn hot fire.

"Big Chief he wake up, he no move, too
hard he tied up. Beaver King he take toma-
hawk cut arm off say dat's for squaw, den
he cut off udder arm — dat's for papoose.
Beaver King he make fire hotter, watch Big
Chief all burn up say all right now. Squaws
yell like devil run way no one cum no more.

"Beaver King he make bundle tie up scalps
put on back, go get food he want, den
go way all 'lone over big old mountin's.

"When good braves found wig-warn all
burnt up an' squaw an' papoose all dead an'
Beaver King he no dere no more make big
noise an' big big mourn.

"Old, old woman, she mighty old, more old
106

AN INDIAN LEGEND

hundred years, she no give up 'tall, she wait,
she look, she listen all time. One day she
tell people Beaver King he cum she hear foot-
steps way way off. People laff, shake heads
much, but old woman she right, she know all
right.

"Beaver King he cum. He sick man too.
He tell people 'bout tings, show big lot scalps,
den he near die.

"Old woman she know lot, she make well
pretty quick — she was great old gal, dat old
woman.

"Good Chief he awful old too, he get sick
he die, he live too much long, den all tribe
have heap big war dance. Make Beaver
King great Chief. He mighty good chief too,
make safe all time, make dis tribe — my tribe
— great strong people. Never no more bad
tribe cum 'cross Grand Lake.

"My dad he Chief now, he old man too.
When he die — me — Sabattis — be Big Chief.
Tomorrow show place where Beaver King he
live. Most gone now, nudder year all gone."

The landing was made. Sabattis carried
the kill of the day to the cabin and disap-
peared into the darkness.

107

The Close of Day — Lake Katahdin

The shadows now are purpling

The crest of distant hills;
The Crimson God is wearied,

But Evening's quiet thrills.

The Loons begin their calling;

The Owl his challenge sends;
The Deer in coves are feeding,

Where the long lake-shore bends.

Upon its burnished surface,
The tall pines seem to glow,

As on that limpid mirror,
Their outlines ebb and flow.

Birches and brush reflecting,

A shore seems not to be,
And fiery clouds, mirage-like,

Change hues while yet they flee.

A serenade is warbled

By tiny songster true;
And at a touch of twilight,

Dense grows the vein of blue.
108

THE CLOSE OF DAY

Upon the mountain summit,
There lingers yet a flame —

The kiss of sunset's parting —
How soft from Heaven, came!

109

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