some wonderful fishing. One evening on a Wilder bug I took seven small-mouth bass of an average weight of four pounds. These fish were caught in a small slough where the current raced at a six or seven mile clip.

Then I, in turn, tried to improve the bug and added the bucktail and hair. I also added the tail. These are undoubtedly big improvements. It is hard to believe that anything will ever be in

DILG'S GEM

vented which gives the angler more sensations than these floating bugs. The strike is so spectacular that beginners suffer from a sort of buck fever and forget to set the hook.

From the very beginning "the floating bass bugs almost instantly became immensely popular throughout the United States and Canada," says Larry St. John, editor of "Woods and Waters," in the Chicago "Tribune." To-day there are six or seven manufacturers producing the bugs, and one of these employs forty-two girls and tells me he is a hundred thousand bugs behind on orders.

Floaters will be tried out in England this spring, and no doubt they will give our English cousins a new fishing sensation. Last year I sent some floaters tied in trout sizes to Viscount Grey, of Falloden. He writes me as follows: "I am very much obliged to you for your kind letter and for the flies sent. My own sight is now too bad for me to be able to fish with floating flies at all, though I can still fish for salmon with wet flies where it is not necessary to see rises. But I will get some opportunity next season of having the flies you have sent me tried. They are absolutely unlike anything which is at

ZANE GREY

doesn't go skipping across the surface as soon as it lands, nor does it lie per fectly quiet; it is still for a few seconds, then tries to swim. But its efforts don't advance it much; instead they merely advertise its presence. Now if a big bass floated close by it-a bass who wanted a few flies to 'top off' withhow long do you think that fly would last?" Continuing, Mr. Wilder says: "If a fly looks right, the bass will notice it; and if it acts right, he will take it. And so, while not denying that some strikes may be prompted by other motives, I think that the majority of bass strike an artificial fly because, deceived by its looks and action, they believe it to be alive and edible."

There are times, however, when fishing a stream, where Mr. Wilder's advice will not answer. Often it is necessary to start the bug moving the instant it touches the water. At such times one must make it imitate a strong struggling bug striving desperately to rise. At times it is best to almost jerk the bug over the water, as though it were after something and in mad haste to get it. The big thing is to make the bug seem alive, and the more one succeeds in doing this the more rises and the more fish one gets.

When the fish are not taking the particular bug I happen to have on, I at once begin to offer them something else and continue to change bugs until I find just what they want. Floating-bug

fishing is just like dry-fly fishing-one must suit the fish or go fishless.

It is of the utmost importance to keep your eye always on the bug. All rising fish strike quick, and if you do not set your hook in a flash it means good-by to your fish.

All true fishermen know that there is such a thing as "fish sense," or fish instinct. Some possess it to a high degree, while others seem utterly bereft of any such talent. It is more than difficult to teach those who do not possess this instinct. Nothing is more certain than that fishermen are born-not made. Perseverance, of course, will do much; still, after all, "one cannot make a white plume from a crow's tail."

Any one who can cast a fly and take a fish with a wet fly does not need instruction as to the ways and means of handling the floating bug. He will take fish at once, and a little experience will make him an artist in the use of the floaters.

One must first learn to handle a flyrod, and I have found that actual practice and hard work are the only ways to master fly-casting. Therefore, buy a fly-rod and practice. It is a common belief that a long cast is necessary. This is not often true, as it is more important to drop one's fly in the right place and in the right way. Certainly, accuracy is far more important than distance every veteran will tell you that this is true.

When "fishing claybanks" in a stream, it is necessary to drop your bug right alongside of the bank, and if you touch it so much the better. When there are no roots or weeds to catch your bug, it is best to hit the bank and then gently let it drop into the water. Usually a bass will take it the instant it touches the water. If he does not, try your best to make the bug seem alive, and, if possible, coax the fish to take it.

When fishing rivers, it is important to make the first cast about two feet above where you expect or know a fish to be.

When one finds bass working on a reef, the angler who can whip out plenty of line gets the most fish. But never try to get out more line than you can handle, because it is necessary to set the hook properly when fishing reefs. Two or three nipped or pricked fish are almost certain to put a stop to your sport. Often bass are found on a reef so plentiful and hungry that they may be seen lashing the water into foam in their rush after minnows, but one or two pricked or hooked and lost fish stops their rising often for hours. A bright-colored bug is usually best for such fishing, and the fisherman must keep it on the move.

Get into the fly-fishing game and add a thousandfold to your fishing joys. If you have never taken a fish on a floating bug, you have a series of indescribable sensations ahead of you.

A

RE you the sort of person that can shut your eyes and smell the smoke of the camp fire, catch the gleam of level stretches, the vision of trees, winds and rocks, of logging roads,

to all others that follow the trail. We salute each other as we pass, as ships dip their colors.

The friendliness of trail people is manifested in a very practical way by the New England Trail Conference. which meets in Boston once a year. Twenty-three organizations of lovers of outdoor life in New England, including community and college groups and hotel associations, are represented in this federation, with a combined record of more than a thousand miles of trails. Their object is to combine their efforts, connect up their numerous detached trails, and avoid duplication and waste.

The oldest is the Appalachian Mountain Club, founded in 1876 and known for its hospitality by the mountainclimbing fraternity everywhere. Its trails extend throughout the White Mountain region, and its white "A M C" painted signs lead across the long line of the Northern Peaks, through scrub and rocks, to the "apex of New England," the summit of Mount Washington. The club maintains four mountain huts with keepers, open to the public, and eight free lean-to camps. Their ambition is to organize a system of through trails, making it possible to traverse all the principal ranges and valleys in the White Mountains, crossing from one

valley to another, and to establish a chain of huts and camps throughout the mountains. Already their huts of native stone, located on the sky-line trail over the Presidentials, at Madison Springs and Lakes of the Clouds, are taxed to the utmost by appreciative travelers over the range.

The Green Mountain Club, a younger organization, is following in the footsteps of the Appalachian Club. Last year they reported to the Trail Conference two hundred and fifty miles of trails, one hut with keeper, and four lean-to camps.

The sky-line of the Green Mountain chain, from the Massachusetts line to the Canadian border, is the latest attraction for hikers. It will when completed offer more than three hundred miles of good trails and superb views. A stretch of forty-three miles, but lately cleared, and known as the Monroe skyline for the public-spirited man who built it, already offers a ten-day tour to the tramper. Starting from the southern end, about fourteen miles east of Middlebury, Vermont, and continuing north to Smugglers' Notch, the trail follows the mountain ridge, taking advantage of the best outlooks. Lodges, shelters, and a few huts on the route furnish accommodations for the night. Some of these are bark lean-to's along the trail, and there are two huts-one maintained by the Camel's Hump Club, on that mountain, and the other, Barnes's Camp, in Smugglers' Notch, is

run during the summer by students from the University of Vermont, which, like the other New England colleges, co-operates in the work of the trail.

The Green Mountain Club plans a series of shelters not more than three miles apart along this trail. Like the A M C, they are greatly indebted to individual members who have not only given their time to build the trails but have also financed the undertaking.

Although there are four States represented in the Trail Conference, fourfifths of all the trails are in New Hampshire. It is said that New Hampshire is the most inhospitable State to the tramp and the most hospitable to the tramper. At any rate, it took action several years ago to get rid of the hobo, while the hikers have come in increasing numbers. Many of the trails are in the White Mountain National Forest, which now includes 430,000 acres. The Appalachian Mountain Club has fifteen reservations in the State. The State has acquired twenty-nine reservations, by gift and by purchase. Ten of the townships own forest land. So there are now sixty-five reservations of one kind or another in New Hampshire in addition to the National Forest. These all co-operate through the Trail Conference, and the Government Forest officers are in hearty sympathy with the plans for extending and maintaining the trails in the National Forest. Already the Government has taken ov r ninetysix miles of trails to be maintained by

the United States Forest Service, the most recent of which is the long trail over the Presidentials from Crawford House to Randolph, which is to be used as a fire trail, by which supplies can be taken to fire fighters over the range.

The boys of the Dartmouth College Outing Club have also planted their redand-white painted signs along fifty-one miles of trails through the Hanover section of New Hampshire and over a cross-country route from Hanover to the White Mountains. Many of their trails lead to their own cabins, some located at the base of the mountain, one on a lake, and all at convenient points for winter hiking and the use of alumni and friends during the summer. The club, officered by students and supported also by faculty and friends, has received some valuable gifts that have helped them to extend their hospitality beyond the bounds of their own organization. A few years ago, in recognition of good work done, the club received an endowment of twenty thousand dollars. Last year it acquired by gift a part of the summit of Mount Moosilauke, including the Tip Top House, which is to be maintained as in the past for the benefit of the tramping public.

This latest acquisition of the. DO C was of the greatest significance to the members of the hiking fraternity. For at the same time a new trail was started over Kinsman and a cherished plan of the AMC was realized-to connect the top of Moosilauke Mountain with the

A

LONG toward the end of May prep

arations for the great American migration have started. By the first of July the flight is well under way. In all the world there is not another migration like this. To all points of the compass and back again fly great black chugging birds on wheels, crisscrossing, intersecting, swooping into deep valleys, ascending high mountains. With some the flight lasts only a few days, others soar all summer. More than a few glide on to the South as cold weather approaches.

These birds, it may be needless to remark, are motor cars. According to recent records there are some nine million members of this gasoline tribe running around loose in these varied United States of ours. At the wheel of a surprisingly large percentage of this nine million sits a sunny-faced, weathertanned individual togged in khaki trousers, flannel shirt, and a don't care old felt hat tilted at a careless rakish angle. One receives the general impression that it does not make a great deal

of difference to the person under the hat whether school keeps or not.

This unconcerned person is not alone. He never is. From the depths of the tonneau pipes a shrill, childish voice: "Oh, daddy. Look-et!"

The particular object which daddy is called upon to look-et is of no special consequence. The fact of his being where and as he is, however, is a matter of utmost importance. In fact, from a recreative and educational standpoint one might even call it in some respects the biggest event of a decade. Daddy, be it known, is a motor camper, sometimes genially referred to as a "tin can tourist." Mommer and the whole canned family are with him. They always are.

Back in Ioway, Nebrasky, or N' Yawk. crestfallen, lonesome Towser, between meals hospitably supplied by the nextdoor neighbor, snoops aimlessly around a locked-up, dark, deserted home, wagging his tail hopefully and wondering when his truant family will have done with this confounded camping nuisance and come home.

Towser's family, 'way out in California, Idaho, Wisconsin, or Maine, have no present intention of coming home. They are having too good a time. This living outdoors twenty-four hours a day and seeing with your own eyes all the wonderful things the geography books tell about certainly is the life. So much better than being cooped up in a boarding-house all summer long on the edge of a silly old lake. Besides, it's nice to have daddy along. He's great fun when you get to know him. Always before he's gone off on fishing trips with somebody else. Yes, indeed, this is the first time the family's been all together on a vacation. They don't know just where they are going, but they're on their way.

Who is daddy? Last summer I sprawled and smoked before his campfire a dozen and more times in as many varied localities. I met him in New York, Maine, British Columbia, Idaho, Washington; had I traveled far enough I would have met him in every State and province of the United States and

Canada. His name is legion. Once, I recall, he was a wealthy merchant from Kansas City, again he was a farmer from the Canadian prairies, then he became a small restaurant owner from Chicago, and again a Philadelphia lawyer. In brief, allow me to refer you to the classified telephone directory. The list of occupations given in that somewhat bulky volume is long and varied. but I would be willing to wager there is not one but has its representative among the tin can tourists.

There is an increasing amount of motor camping in the East, but to view this new manner of touring in all its democratic, care-free glory, you would do well to go west of the Mississippi River. Anywhere between the Mississippi and the Pacific Ocean and from the Mexican border to as far north in Canada as there are roads vill do very nicely. A fair-sized slice of territory to be sure, but drop down beside most any main-traveled highway within its bor ders and the chances are that it will not be so very many minutes before daddy, mommer, and the youngsters whiz by in a car bulging with tents, beds, cook kits, and similar outdoor goods.

The hotels in the region which I have mentioned still keep their signs up, and I have seen people with traveling-bags hanging around the lobbies. It is comforting to know that hotel-keeping in the West has not become a lost art. But it is safe to say that if hotel men depended solely upon motor tourists for their living they would quickly and surely starve to death. In common parlance of the day, the motor tourists carry their own. The unanimous manner in which Western motorists sidestep the hotels is positively cruel. I have been told that the constant repetition of good round dollars flashing past hotel portals with nary a one rolling in has not improved the dispositions of the hotel owners.

I might state that the average American does not care to blow his money. He is

"BESIDES, IT'S NICE TO HAVE DADDY ALONG. HE'S GREAT FUN WHEN YOU GET TO KNOW HIM"

perfectly willing to spend, but he wants in return value received. That, in great Contrary to popular opinion, perhaps, part, accounts for the fact that up to

"THEY DON'T KNOW JUST WHERE THEY ARE GOING, BUT THEY ARE ON THEIR WAY"

within the last two or three years there was a comparatively small amount of motor touring. I mean in comparison with to-day. Touring then was done in terms of hotels. It was too expensive. The present-day gasoline tent dweller is not only enjoying an infinitely better time, but he is having it at a fraction of the cost.

Almost every motor camper keeps an expense account. On the slightest provocation he will exhibit it, and this with gloating pride. I have been assured many times that the total expenses of an all-summer trip are no greater than living at home. Such a statement may be subject to slight variations, but I think in the main that it is true. Certainly a goodly proportion of the army of motor campers now touring the length and breadth of the land are people who but for this inexpensive form of traveling would not be able to go at all.

I recall meeting in Idaho a smalltown grocer and his family from the Middle West. They were about to start home after an extended tour of the National Parks. Five interested faces of youngsters ranging from four years to sixteen regarded us silently as we talked. The father gave a satisfied chuckle and remarked:

"Just give a good look at that row of hungry mouths. If we'd stopped at hotels my bank roll would have lasted about three days."

We hear much about the democracy of certain American outdoor games. Yet you and I sit snugly in the grandstand at a baseball game and watch the other fellow play out the nine innings. To my mind the only democratic sport is one in which everybody plays the game. And I hereby elect motor camping the most democratic sport in America. Please remember about daddy, mommer, and the youngsters. They are playing the game. When you get in among the roots of American family life, you have something real.

From about any standpoint you view this new sport of motor camping you find a spirit of real democracy. Drop into most any Western town or National