Class JLfct 4f / 
 
 BookiTlZ 
 
 Copyright i\° 
 
 COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. 
 
In Quiet Waters 
 
Reminiscent Tales 
 Of a Humble Angler 
 
 BY 
 
 DR. FRANK MACKIE JOHNSON 
 
 INTRODUCTION BY 
 
 DR. JAMES A. HENSr-IALL 
 
 Author of the "Book of the Black Bass," etc. 
 
 iTEWART ft KIPD 
 
 CINCINNATI, U, i. A. 
 
 CINCINNATI 
 
 STEWART KIDD COMPANY 
 
 PUBLISHERS 
 
.37 
 
 Copyright, 1921 
 STEWART KIDD COMPANY 
 
 All Rights Reserved 
 Copyright in England 
 
 JUN 15 1921 
 ©GIA617835 
 
 
 / 
 
s: 
 
 <r 
 
 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 
 
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, 
 any. 
 
 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. 
 
 IO 
 
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, 1921. 
 
 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 
 
 30 
 
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. 
 
 3i 
 
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 righting 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 revoir" 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. 
 
 36 
 
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. 
 
 42 
 
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- 
 
 ss 
 
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. 
 5* 
 
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 skiff 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. 
 
 «5 
 
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. 
 
 6 7 
 
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. 
 69 
 
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 
 
 71 
 
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 I'm 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 I'm 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, 
 I'm a wonder; yes, by thunder, 
 
 I'm 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 I'm 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 
 
 7 6 
 
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. 
 
 84 
 
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. 
 
 ^s * * :;■: 
 
 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- 
 
 87 
 
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 was 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. 
 
 89 
 
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. 
 
 9i 
 
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- 
 
 96 
 
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. 1 — 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 cliff's 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 
 98 
 
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! 
 
 IOI 
 
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. 
 1 02 
 
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-wam, 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-wam. 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-wam 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 
 v/ig-wam. 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-wam 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 
 1 06 
 
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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 By Dr. Charles Frederic Holder, LL.D. 
 
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 count of the game fishes of the world. Over 100 illustrations. Hand- 
 somely bound. Large 8vo. Net, $5.00. 
 
 BASS, PIKE, PERCH AND OTHER GAME FISHES 
 OF AMERICA. By James A. Henshall, M.D. 
 
 Author of "Book of the Black Bass." The most comprehensive 
 book on American game fishes published. Describes in detail ninety 
 species and varieties of game fish. Many illustrations and frontis- 
 piece and cover jacket in color. Large IZmo. Silk Cloth. Net, $3.00. 
 
 BOOK OF THE BLACK BASS AND MORE ABOUT 
 THE BLACK BASS. By James A. Henshall, M.D. 
 
 This is a complete treatise on Bass, containing not only advice as 
 to the methods of angling, but also a scientific history of the species. 
 The greatest book of its kind published. 140 illustrations. Hand- 
 some three-colored cover jacket. IZmo. Silk Cloth. Net, $3.00. 
 
 CASTING TACKLE AND METHODS. By 0. W. Smith 
 
 Fishing Editor of "Outdoor Life" and author of "Trout Lore." 
 The author has endeavored to embody not only the accumulated 
 wisdom of forty years of angling, but also to draw upon the ex- 
 perience of well-known angling experts. A valuable book for both 
 the old-timer and the amateur. Elaborately illustrated. Large 12mo. 
 Silk Cloth. Net, $3.00. 
 
 THE COMPLEAT ANGLER. By Izaak Walton 
 
 This "Fisherman's encyclopedia of Happiness" bids fair to become 
 the standard exquisite edition of Walton's great Classic. Sixteen 
 full-page illustrations in color by James H. Thorpe. Handsomely 
 bound. Large 4to. Cloth. Net, $3.50. Three-fourths Turkey Mo- 
 rocco. Net, $15.00. 
 
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