“We delight, as all the world has long well known, in every kind of
fishing, from the whale to the minnow.”
Christopher North.
The beautiful fish now chosen for our “subject theme” is a genuine
_native American_, and ranks high among the game fish of the country.
When fully grown, he is commonly about fifteen inches long, two inches
in thickness, and some five inches broad, weighing perhaps five or six
pounds. He belongs to the perch family, has a thick oval head, a swallow
tail, sharp teeth, and small scales. In color, he is deep black along
the back and sides, growing lighter and somewhat yellowish towards the
belly. He has a large mouth and is a bold biter, feeds upon minnows and
insects, is strong and active, and when in season possesses a fine
flavor. He spawns in the spring, recovers in July, and is in his prime
in September.
The black basse is peculiarly a Western fish, and is not known in any of
the rivers which connect immediately with the Atlantic Ocean. They are
found in great abundance in the upper Mississippi and its tributaries,
in all the great lakes excepting Superior, in the upper St. Lawrence, in
Lake Champlain and Lake George, and nearly all the smaller lakes of New
York. In portions of the last-named State they are called the Oswego
basse, in the southwest the black perch, and in the northwest, where
they are most abundant, the black basse. In nearly all the waters where
they abound has it been our good fortune to angle for the fish, and his
very name is associated with much of the most beautiful scenery in the
land. Our own experience, however, in basse fishing is chiefly
identified with Lake George, Lake Erie, Lake Michigan, and the upper
Mississippi, and to these waters alone is it our purpose to devote a few
paragraphs.
And, first, as to the beautiful “Horicon” of the North. Embosomed as it
is among the wildest of mountains, and rivaling, as do its waters, the
blue of heaven, it is indeed all that could be desired, and in every
particular worthy of its fame. Although this lake is distinguished for
the number and variety of its trout, I am inclined to believe that the
black basse found here afford the angler the greatest amount of sport.
They are taken during the entire summer, and by almost as great a
variety of methods as there are anglers; trolling with a minnow,
however, and fishing with a gaudy fly from the numerous islands in the
lake, are unquestionably the two most successful methods. As before
intimated, the basse is a very active fish, and, excepting the salmon,
we know of none that perform, when hooked, such desperate leaps out of
the water. They commonly frequent the immediate vicinity of the shores,
especially those that are rocky, and are seldom taken where the water is
more than twenty feet deep. They commonly lie close to the bottom, rise
to the minnow or fly quite as quickly as the trout, and are not as
easily frightened by the human form.
The late William Caldwell, who owned an extensive estate at the southern
extremity of Lake George, was the gentleman who first introduced us to
the basse of said lake, and we shall ever remember him as one of the
most accomplished and gentlemanly anglers we have ever known. He was
partial to the trolling method of fishing, however, and the manner in
which he performed a piscatorial expedition was somewhat unique and
romantic. His right hand man on all occasions was a worthy mountaineer,
who lived in the vicinity of his mansion, and whose principal business
was to take care of the angler’s boat, and row him over the lake. For
many years did this agreeable connection exist between Mr. Caldwell and
his boatman, and, when their fishing days were over, was happily
terminated by the deeding of a handsome farm to the latter by his
munificent employer. But we intended to describe one of Mr. Caldwell’s
excursions.
It is a July morning, and our venerable angler, with his boatman, has
embarked in his feathery skiff. The lake is thirty-three miles long, and
it is his intention to perform its entire circuit, thereby voyaging at
least seventy miles. He purposes to be absent about a week, and, having
no less than half a dozen places on the lake shore where he can find a
night’s lodging, he is in no danger of being compelled to camp out. His
little vessel is abundantly supplied with fishing tackle, as well as the
substantials of life, and some of its liquid luxuries. He and _Care_
have parted company, and his heart is now wholly open to the influences
of nature, and therefore buoyant as the boat which bears him over the
translucent waters. The first day his luck is bad, and he tarries at a
certain point for the purpose of witnessing the concluding scene of a
deer hunt, and hearing the successful hunter expatiate upon his exploits
and the quality of his hounds. On the second day the wind is from the
south, and he secures no less than twenty of the finest basse in the
lake. On the third day he also has good luck, but is greatly annoyed by
thunder showers, and must content himself with one of the late magazines
which he has brought along for such emergencies. The fifth and sixth
days he has some good fishing, and spends them at Garfield’s Landing
(for the reader must know that there is a tiny steamboat on Lake
George), where he has an opportunity of meeting a brotherhood of
anglers, who are baiting for the salmon trout; and the seventh day he
probably spends quietly at Lyman’s Tavern, in the companionship of an
intelligent landscape painter (spending the summer there), arriving at
home on the following morning.
As to our own experience in regard to basse fishing in Lake George, we
remember one incident in particular which illustrates an interesting
truth in natural history. We were on a trouting expedition, and happened
to reach the lake early in June, before the basse were in season, and we
were stopping with our friend Mr. Lyman, of Lyman’s Point. The idea
having occurred to us of spearing a few fish by torchlight, we secured
the services of an experienced fisherman, and with a boat well supplied
with _fat pine_, we launched ourselves on the quiet waters of the lake
about an hour after sundown. Basse were very abundant, and we succeeded
in killing some half dozen of a large size. We found them exceedingly
tame, and noticed, when we approached, that they were invariably alone,
occupying the centre of a circular and sandy place among the rocks and
stones. We inquired the cause of this, and were told that the basse were
casting their spawn, and that the circular places were the beds where
the young were protected. On hearing this our conscience was somewhat
troubled for what we had been doing, but we resolved to take one more
fish and then go home. We now came to a large bed, around the edge of
which we discovered a number of very small fish, and over the centre of
the bed a very large and handsome basse was hovering. We darted our
spear, and only wounded the poor fish. Our companion then told us that
if we would go away for fifteen minutes, and then return to the same
spot, we should have another chance at the same fish. We did so, and the
prediction was realized. We threw the spear again, and again missed our
game, though we succeeded in nearly cutting the fish in two pieces. “You
will have the creature yet; let us go away again,” said my companion. We
did so, and lo! to our utter astonishment, we again saw the fish, all
mutilated and torn, still hovering over its tender offspring! To relieve
it of its pain we darted the spear once more, and the basse lay in our
boat quite dead; and we returned to our lodgings on that night a
decidedly unhappy man. We felt, with the _ancient mariner_, that we
“_had done a hellish deed_” and most bitterly did we repent our folly.
Ever since that time have we felt a desire to atone for our wickedness,
and we trust that the shade of Izaak Walton will receive our humble
confession as an atonement. The basse that we took on the night in
question, owing to their being out of season, were not fit to eat, and
we had not even the plea of palatable food to offer. The maternal
affection of that black basse for its helpless offspring, which it
protected even unto death, has ever seemed to us in strict keeping with
the loveliness and holiness of universal nature.
And now with regard to Lake Erie. We know not of a single prominent
river emptying into this lake in which the black basse is not found in
considerable numbers. The sport which they yield to the disciples of
Walton at the eastern extremity of the lake has been described by George
W. Clinton, Esq., of Buffalo, in a series of piscatorial letters
published in the journals of that city; and, as we would not interfere
with him while throwing the fly in his company on the same stream,
neither will we trespass upon that literary ground which he has so
handsomely made his own. When, however, we hear the green waves of Lake
Erie washing its western shores, we feel that we have a right to be
heard, for in that region, when it was for the most a lonely wilderness,
did we first behold the light of this beautiful world. With the windings
of the Sandusky, the Maumee, the Huron, and the Detroit rivers we are
quite familiar, and we know that they all yield an abundance of black
basse; but with the river Raisin we are as well acquainted as a child
could be with its mother’s bosom. Upon this stream was the home of our
boyhood, and at the bare mention of its name unnumbered recollections
flit across the mind, which to our hearts are inexpressibly dear.
Even when a mere boy we esteemed the black basse as a peer among his
fellows, and never can we forget our first prize. We had seated ourself
at the foot of an old sycamore, directly on the margin of the river
Raisin, and among its serpent-like roots we were fishing for a number of
tiny rock basse that we had chanced to discover there. We baited with a
worm, and while doing our utmost to capture a two-ounce fish, we were
suddenly frightened by the appearance of a black basse, which took our
hook and was soon dangling in the top of a neighboring bush. Our delight
at this unexpected exploit was unbounded, and, after bothering our
friends with an account of it until the night was far spent, we retired
to bed, and in our dreams caught the same poor fish over and over again
until morning. From that day to this, rivers and fish have haunted us
like a passion.
Like the trout, the black basse seems to be partial to the more romantic
and poetical places in the rivers which they frequent. On the river
Raisin, for example, we used to enjoy the rarest of sport at an old and
partly dilapidated mill-dam, which was covered with moss, and at the
foot of which were some of the nicest “deep holes” imaginable. Wherever
the timbers of the dam formed a “loop-hole of retreat,” there we were
always sure of finding a basse. And we also remember an old mill, in
whose shadowy recesses, far down among the foundation timbers, the basse
delighted to congregate, and where we were wont to spend many of our
Saturday afternoons; but our favorite expeditions were those which
occupied entire days, and led us along the banks of the Raisin, in the
vicinity of its mouth, and far beyond the hearing of the mill-wheel or
the clink of the blacksmith’s anvil. At such times the discovery of old
sunken logs was all that we cared for, for we knew that the basse
delighted to spend the noontide hours in their shadow. And when we could
borrow a canoe, and obtain a foothold on the extreme point of a wooded
island, so as to angle in the deep and dark holes, we seldom failed in
realizing all the enjoyment that we anticipated. And, if we chanced to
come across a party of fishermen drawing the seine, we were sure to
forget our promise to our parents to return home before sundown, and,
far too often for a good boy, did we remain with them even until the
moon had taken her station in the sky. To count the fish thus captured,
and to hear the strange adventures and exploits talked over by these
fishermen, was indeed a delightful species of vagabondizing; and we
usually avoided a very severe scolding by returning home “with one of
the largest basse ever caught in the river,” which we may have taken
with the hook or purchased of the fishermen. But we are talking of the
“times of the days of old,” and as we remember that the glories of the
River Raisin, in regard to its scenery and its fish, are for ever
departed, we hasten to other waters.
In fancy we have now crossed the peninsula of Michigan, or rather
compassed it by means of the splendid steamers which navigate the waters
of Huron and Michigan, and we are now on the banks of the river St.
Joseph. This is a small river, and unquestionably one of the most
beautiful in the western world. It runs through an exceedingly fertile
country, abounds in luxuriant islands, is invariably as clear as
crystal, and in its course winding to an uncommon degree. It is
navigable for small steamboats to the village of Niles, fifty miles from
its mouth, and for batteaux somewhere about fifty miles further, towards
its source. Early in the spring it abounds in the more common varieties
of fresh-water fish, but throughout the summer and autumn it yields the
black basse in the greatest abundance.
Our piscatorial experience upon the St. Joseph has not been very
extensive, but we deem it worthy of a passing notice. We were on our way
to the “Far West,” and had been waylaid in the beautiful village of
Niles by one of the fevers of the country. The physician who attended us
was a genuine angler, and we believe that our speedy recovery was owing
almost entirely to the capital fish stories with which he regaled us
during that uncomfortable period. Be that as it may, one thing we very
clearly remember, which is this: that we enjoyed some of the most
remarkable basse fishing in his company that we have ever experienced.
It was in September, and we commenced fishing at three o’clock in the
afternoon. We baited with live minnows, fished with hand lines, and from
a boat which was firmly anchored at a bend of the river, and just above
a long and very deep hole, two miles above the village of Niles. Our
lines were upwards of a hundred feet long, and, as the current was very
rapid, the pulling in of our minnows was performed with very little
trouble. The sun was shining brightly, and the only sounds which floated
in the air were the singing of birds, the rustling of the forest leaves,
and the gentle murmuring of the waters as they glided swiftly along the
luxuriant banks of the stream. We fished a little more than two hours,
but in that time we caught no less than ninety-two basse, a dozen of
which weighed over five pounds, and the great majority not less than two
pounds. Such remarkable luck had never been heard of before in that
vicinity, and of course for several days thereafter the river was
covered with boats; but, strange to say, nearly all the anglers returned
home disappointed. On a subsequent occasion, the doctor and his patient
made another trial at their favorite spot, but succeeded in taking only
a single fish, from which circumstance we came to the conclusion that we
had actually cleared that portion of the river of its fishy inhabitants.
Before quitting the St. Joseph, we ought to state that its beautiful
tributaries, the Pipe Stone and the Paw-Paw, afford a superior quality
of basse, and that no pleasanter fishing-ground can anywhere be found
than at the mouth of the parent river itself. With regard to the other
principal rivers of western Michigan, we can only say that the Kalamazoo
and the Grand River are not one whit behind the St. Joseph in any of
those charms which win the affections of the angler and the lover of
nature.
We come now to speak of the Upper Mississippi, in whose translucent
waters, as before stated, the black basse is found in “numbers
numberless.” Not only do they abound in the river itself and its noble
tributaries, but also in the lakes of the entire region. The only people
who angle for them, however, are the travelers who occasionally
penetrate into this beautiful wilderness of the Northwest. Generally
speaking, the basse, as well as all other kinds of fish, are taken by
the Indians with a wooden spear, and more to satisfy hunger than to
enjoy the sport. The angler who would cast a fly above Fort Snelling
must expect to spend his nights in an Indian lodge instead of a
white-washed cottage, to repose upon a bear-skin instead of a bed (such
as Walton loved) which “smells of lavender,” and to hear the howl of the
wolf instead of a “milk-maid’s song.”
As our piscatorial recollections of the section of country just named
are not particularly interesting, and as it is attracting much attention
at the present time (1849), under the new name of _Minesota_, or _Turbid
Water_, we shall conclude our essay with the following general
description.
According to the final provisions of the act of Congress which has
lately transferred this extensive wilderness into a Territory of the
United States, it is bounded on the north by the British possessions, on
the east by Lake Superior and the State of Wisconsin, on the south by
the State of Iowa, and on the west by the Missouri river and the
extensive possessions of the Indians. The surface of the country is
generally level, and it has been estimated that at least two-thirds of
its area consists of prairie land, the remainder being forest. Much of
the soil is fertile, and easy of cultivation. It is watered by no less
than six of the most superb rivers on the face of the earth—the
Mississippi and Missouri, River Au Jacques, the St. Peters, or Minesota
River, the Red River, emptying into Hudson’s Bay, and the St. Louis,
emptying into Lake Superior. Were it not for the Falls of St. Mary (a
canal having been built around those of Niagara), a vessel sailing from
the city of New York, by the St. Lawrence and the great lakes, might
deposit her merchandise almost within its very heart; while it is a
well-known fact that a New Orleans steamer may, by the Mississippi and
Missouri rivers, transport the products of the South to its more remote
extremities. The two facts, that Minesota is laved by the waters of the
largest lake in the world, and that in its very centre are located at
least a thousand lesser lakes, which constitute the fountainhead of the
Father of Waters, are in themselves sufficient to give it a world-wide
reputation. In addition to all this, the climate of this territory is
all that could be desired. The winters are indeed somewhat long and
cold, but they are regular; and, as to the summers, we have never
witnessed any that were to us so bracing and delightful. The dreaded
ague is a stranger in this region, and the very night-airs seem to
increase the strength of the voyagers and Indian traders, who, for the
most part, are the only civilized inhabitants of the domain. Game is
found in the greatest abundance, from the buffalo to the deer and the
grouse, and there is no region in the world where can be found a greater
variety of fresh-water fish.
The Indian population is by far the most extensive now existing within
its limits, but the nations are only two in number, the Chippeways and
the Sioux. The wrongs which these unfortunate children of the wilderness
have for many years past endured from the more unprincipled traders are
among the blackest crimes of the white man, and it is to be most
sincerely hoped that a new order of things will now be brought about
which may in some slight degree atone for those wrongs. To us, who have
been a devoted lover of the red man, even from childhood, the fact that
the race is literally withering from the land of their fathers is indeed
depressing and sickening. With all his faults, we dearly love the poor
neglected and deeply-wronged Indian, and we verily believe that our
beloved country can never prosper, as it might, until we have done
something to atone for the unnumbered outrages committed against the
race by our more unworthy citizens. But we are wandering.
With regard to the towns or villages existing at the present time in
Minesota, we can offer but little. So far as we now remember, they
consist of only three: Fond du Lac, on the St. Louis, a mere trading
post; St. Peters, at the mouth of the river of that name, distinguished
as the site of Fort Snelling, as being within five or six miles of the
Falls of St. Anthony, and at the head of steamboat navigation; and the
hamlet of St. Paul, which is on the west side of the Mississippi, only
about six miles below the mouth of the St. Peter’s. The fact that the
last-named place has been selected as the seat of government of the new
Territory renders it of some interest. It is situated on a bluff which
rises some fifty feet above the Mississippi, and, though flanked by a
thinly-wooded, or rather prairie country, the soil is fertile, and the
scenery both up and down the Mississippi is exceedingly beautiful.
Unlike that portion running south of the Missouri, this portion of the
great river is invariably translucent, and for many reasons is
interesting to an uncommon degree. Steamboats drawing only a few inches
of water navigate this portion of the river during the whole summer.
When we visited St. Paul (1846) the majority of its dwellings, if not
all (numbering not more than half a dozen), were built of logs, and,
though very comfortable, were not particularly showy. At that time, too,
the only business carried on there was that of trading with the Indians.
Our most vivid recollections of the place are associated with a supper
that we enjoyed in the cabin of the principal trader. We had lost
ourself in traveling by land from Lake St. Croix to the village, and for
many hours before our arrival we had been in a particularly hungry mood.
We entered St. Paul just as the sun was setting; and it so happened
that, on the very outskirts of the place, we chanced to kill a couple of
young coons. A portion of one of these animals, fried in its own fat,
with a dish of tea, constituted our supper, and a more truly
satisfactory supper we have hardly ever enjoyed, albeit we have been
quite an extensive traveler in the wilderness. If the citizens of St.
Paul only welcomed their newly-appointed governor by giving him a coon
supper, we feel confident that he was well pleased with the reception.
With regard to the agricultural products, we cannot speak with much
confidence. Wild rice, we know, grows in great abundance, and is the
staple article of food with the Indians. For corn, the climate is
considered rather cold; but potatoes and the more common vegetables grow
to perfection. In many parts the maple-tree predominates, and a fine
sugar is produced in considerable quantities. The principal timbers are
pine and a dwarfish oak. The only Alpine region of Minesota is that
which lies upon Lake Superior, and the beautiful mountains which here
kiss the blue of heaven are invariably covered with a miscellaneous
forest; and, if half the stories we have heard are true, they must
abound in the valuable minerals of copper and silver.
Those of our readers who may desire further information in regard to the
Territory of Minesota would do well to consult the following
authorities, viz., Gen. Pike, who traveled through the region in 1806;
Henry R. Schoolcraft’s Travels, both in 1820 and 1832; Major Long, who
visited Leech Lake in 1823; and M. Nicolet, whose map of the region is
exceedingly valuable; an occasional item of information may also be
obtained from a little work entitled “A Summer in the Wilderness,”
published in 1846.