The times. (Owosso, Mich.) 1882-1897, 1889-06-28
A copFISHlNo TRIP.
A Description True To Life. by One Who
Has been There Himself.

A Description True to Life. by One Who
Has been There Himself
Two hours ago we were in New
York. Now, ON board the iron fish
ing steamer Angler we are rushing
through the blue oceans waves to the
Goldfish 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 rugged 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, trihe cool,
from the northwest makes the air as
clear as bell, and the distant coast,
the strange looking vessels from for
eign ports, the transatlantic steam
ers, 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
Choir to drop. Down it goes, leaving
a string of pearly bubbles behind it.
Then 200 whole skinner CLANS on as
as many hooks fly through the air,
hit the water with splash and swiftly
sink to the bottom.
Codfishing is rather slow work and
there generally is long time between
bites, but in few moments we hear
the welcome shout: Get the gaff p
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 Goldfish comes to the
surface On the lower deck is man
ready with the gait. There; now's
your chancep Jab! 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
rushes below. When he reappeats
dragging his three foot long prize by
the 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 gaffl" 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 gatf p
yells the man on our side, who seems
to be pulling in whale. Get a
club" roar the others as he, with an
expression of disgust, fetches up a
horrible conger eel, whose teeth will
almost bite a knife blade in two.
Capt. Foster is everywhere. Here
he comes, dragging tifty-four pound
Goldfish with one hand and a 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. Ali
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 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. G. Dodge in Detroit
| Free Press.