The Washington times., 1938-08-17

both Beach near the Inlet lives
Jim Stonehall, who won't wet q
line until he hears the church
organ peal out over the waters.
Claims that the organ music
makes them bite better and
brings the largest fish out after
the bait. Jim's friend, Charley
Downes, won't wet q line until
he bats his boat with an oar
for at least ten minutes. Char
ley says this makes the fish
curious and when they come
over to see what all the noise is
about. he just hooks them. But
then it was Charley who caught
a record yellow-fin tide-runner
a few years ago and cut a notch
in the side of his skiff to mark
the place where he caught the
fish so that he could come back
TO the same spot later. We
leave you to judge how well
either of these theories actually
would work out. OF course these
two fishermen, while close
friends ashore, never venture out
on the water together, as their
ideas on fishing do not coincide.
Down at 3-Notch Point, below
the Patuxent on the Chesapeake
Bay, Frank Baughman tells
about a big shallow lake in a
lagoon kept filled with choice
fish and where he can dip out
as many as he wishes without
going out with hook and line.
A pair of big fish hawks do the
Job, Frank claims. and he first
noted them several years ago
when the hardhead run was at
its peak. The hawks would
hover over the water out in the
bay, dive down and rise with
fish firmly clutched in their
talons. Then they would fly
inland to the lagoon and drop
the fish, return and do 1t over
and over again. In this man.
ner, Just like a squirrel hoard
ing nuts for winter, these hawks
caught their fish and stocked
the lagoon for a later time when
fish would be scarcer. They
not only catch hardheads, Frank
says, but perch, trout, and when
the blues and rock rise to the
surface, grab off an occasional
small fellow from these schools.
Frank offers to show anyone
who doubts this the actual pool.
OF course everyone read Bob
Wilson's version of the story
told by the writer about the
dreadful discovery made by the
bridegroom, an ardent devotee
of the art of fishing with the
dry fly. This pitiful case
reached the divorce court and
the fisherman won his decree
when he told the judge, through
his sobs, how he found his bride
of but few weeks, catching
trout with worms.
This incident is brought in
here to prepare the reader for
another touching tale of the
stream. This happened up in
the slow water above Seneca,
that portion of the Potomac
haunted by the Reuben Riggs
crowd from Rockville, among
others. A beautiful romance
seemed about to blossom like a
water lily. HE was a caster, a
bass caster, and liked nothing
more than to cast and cast and
cast. SHE, lovely to look at
incidentally, seemed to have the
proper feel with the oars to
bring a boat to just the right
place for the perfect cast. Their
friendship was beautiful to be-
hold. He was the envy Of all
the other lads who, too, hoped
to be able to go through life, as
a team, one rowing, the other
casting, in perfect accord and
understanding. But one week he
showed up alone, the next week
the same, and also the next.
Finally those who had watched
this perfectly matched couple
on the stream could contain
themselves no longer and one,
braver than the rest, finally
mustered up courage enough to
ask about the girl who seemed
to know so well how to use the
oars. Came the answer:
"Oh, you mean Sally. Well
she doesn't come out with me
any more. You see I bought