Arizona weekly citizen., 1889-07-27
A cODFISHING TRIP.
} Description True to Life, by One whs
 Has Been There Himself

Has Been There Himself
 Two hours ago we were in New York. Now, on board the iron fish jag steamer Angler we are rushing through the oiue oceans waves to the codfish grounds called '"The Farms" lying fifteen miles off Long Branch. Only the old time fishermen, not afraid of little cold weather, are with us, and rigged mostly in oiled skin suits and sou'westers they look pictur- esque but not handsome.
 We pass some wrecks which add to the adventure of the trip and watch with interest the shad fishermen in rowboats, scattered along our way, hauling their nets. The sight of the jumping silvery fish they take out arouses our fishing ardor till the old est veterans aboard get into an excite ment that is pleasant to see.
 The morning is beautiful. The sky is intensely blue and the sunshine sparkles merrily on the tumbling bill lows. A gentle breeze, trifle cool, from the northwest makes the air as clear as a bell, and the distant coast, the strange looking vessels from for eign ports. the transatlantic steam CTS, fishing smacks, etc., are a never ending panorama.
 At last we have reached the fishing grounds. Every fisherman, glowing with expectations, is in his place, pole in hand, eagerly waiting for the an- chor to drop. Down 1t goes, leaving string of pearly bubbles behind it. Then 200 whole skinner clans on as as many hooks fly through the air, hit the water with a splash and swiftly sink to the bottom.
 Codfshing is rather slow work and there generally is long time between bites, but in a few moments we hear the welcome shout: ''Get the gaff I'' One of the veterans by us on the hur- ricane deck is struggling to reel in the first fish. All eyes are on him. Keep him in the water" is the un- necessary advice shouted when the twenty pound codfish comes to the surface. On the lower deck is a man ready with the gaff. "There; now's your chanceT Jabl goes the big hook into the monstrous fish and with a hurrah it is safely landed. The lucky and envied old salt drops his pole and rlshes below. When he reappears dragging his three foot long prize by tie gills, with his grizzled face flush ed with victory and expanding with the proudest smile, he makes picture that an amateur photographer ought | to secure.
 ''Get the gaffI" now sounds all over the boat. Goldfish, hake, pollock, had dock, Holsters weighing twenty-three pounds, skates as big as an overcoat, and great ugly, yellow conger cells, with frightful mouths wide open and twisting into knots, are coming up all around and pounding the deck with their heavy Hopping. Get the gaif i! wells the man on our side, who seems to be pulling in a whale. Get a club,n roar the others as he, with an expression of disgust, fetches up a horrible conger eel, whose teeth will | almost bite knife blade in two. Capt. Foster is everywhere. Here he comes, dragging a fifty-four pound | codfish with one hand and pollock as big as boy with the other for the passengers to see and go crazy over. And for four happy hours this grand and glorious sport goes on, till the whistle blows to stop, the anchor is raised and we homeward sail, with more fish than we'll know how to carry away when we reach the dock An how good those fish taste when we eat them. As different from what you buy as day from night And how strong and well you feel in body and mind after the trip. And it needn't cost us a cent, for if we're mean enough to sell the fish we can't use,
 we can live on the profits for week, more or less.-H. c. Dodge ill Detroit Free Press.