Part 40

I must not exhibit all my treasures here, to the public. These old souvenirs are only for the eyes of sympathizing angling friends when we meet to blow a cloud and talk of other days.

A little brown-eyed maiden once, looking into my fly-book, asked why I had the old frayed flies tied up in separate papers and marked, while the nice new flies did not show this care. Had she been of maturer years I might have quoted Alonzo of Aragon’s commendation of old friends, but instead, I merely said:

“The nice new flies I can easily buy, but no one sells such old flies, therefore I take the greater care of them because of their rarity.”

The new flies will not be slighted, for they, also, have their season of admiration and caressing touch. When their day has come the old veterans of many a fight will not be forgotten either, but while maturing plans for augmenting their numbers, the recruits in their new, bright dress will be inspected to see what claims they may have for future honors.

The lengthening days and diminishing snowbanks naturally turn the angler’s thoughts forward, and he sniffs the south wind as though he would discover some slight remaining odor of fragrant apple blossoms borne to him from the far southland as the forerunner of warm air, blue sky, bursting buds, open streams, green grass, “gentle spring,” and time to go a-fishing. Then the untried flies are examined and speculation is rife as to their excellence, each for its own particular kind of fish.

Day dreams and evening musings give place to an activity of mind and body when fishing is under consideration. The lessons of the last season and other seasons are brought to bear to perfect all arrangements for a fresh campaign. Consultations with brother anglers are frequent, and plans many and various are weighed and discussed. The tackle box is overhauled again and again, notwithstanding the attention paid to it at the close of the last season, to be sure that nothing is wanting or left undone. Lines are tested; leaders are subjected to the closest scrutiny to see that no flaws or chafed places exist to give way at a critical moment during some future contest, when a trifle will turn the scales; reels are taken apart and carefully oiled; rods sent to the maker for a new coat of varnish, and, perhaps, a few new whippings for the guide rings; fishing shoes, although they have a row of holes just above the soles, get an extra dressing of oil to keep the leather soft; and an inventory of the wardrobe is taken and old garments are selected that appear for the time, considering the use they are to serve, far more faultless than when first sent home by the tailor. “About these days your business letters, if written to people into whose souls the love of angling has entered, may terminate as follows:

“P. S.—What are the prospects for the spring fishing in your neighborhood? Did the late freshets of last fall destroy the trout eggs deposited in the streams about you?” or, “Did the unusual severity of the winter cause destruction to the trout spawn in the headwaters of your brooks?”

Some evening when the “fever is on” you will write to a guide up in the North Woods, some honest, faithful fellow that you have known in all weathers for many seasons:

“Be sure and take a boat over to Mahogany Pond, (that is not the name of it, for its title is taken from a domestic wood that grows on its shores), before the snow goes off and keep me informed as to the condition of things, for I wish to start and be with you as soon as the water is free from ice. I shall bring a friend with me, the gentleman I told you about last summer, who knows the name of every plant that grows in the woods, as well as the name of every fish that swims in the water. The old camp, with a few repairs, will answer, as Mr. ——— is an old woodsman and angler of the first order, and requires no more than the few simples that you usually take to camp. He, like myself, goes into the woods to fish and fill his lungs with the pure mountain air that you live in.”

When Dick reads the letter he smiles, for it contains nothing unknown to him before. It is his own idea to carry a boat to the pond on the snow, for there is no road, path or trail, but he only says to himself:

“He’s got it just as bad this spring as ever. The medicine will be ready for him.”

The angler does all this and more; mind, I say the angler, for the other fellow that goes a-fishing because it is the thing to do, or because he has heard some one dilate upon the pleasure to be found in practising the art, will do nothing of the sort. It is too much trouble, or, more likely, these things never occur to him.

How the man of severe aspect who, if he smiles, looks as though he wore a petrified smile that he had bought at a bargain, and whose sole ambition and pleasure is to make money, live as long as he can in doing so, and die as rich as possible; this man, if he could know, and comprehend, what is passing through the angler’s mind at this season, would say such vagabonds are the cumberers of the earth; but he could not find a “cumberer” in all the land who would change places with him, take his joyless life, sapless heart, frozen visage, narrow views and great wealth, and give in return the angler’s light heart, happy disposition, love of God, his fellow-man and Nature; his resources within himself, engendered by his fondness for the wild woods, to enjoy the past and anticipate the future, whatever betide; his desire to see good in every thing, his clear conscience and his fishing tackle.

Bear in mind that the pleasure of angling is not alone the consummation of your hopes for a large score. Hear what Sir Humphrey Davy says on this subject:

“From the savage in his rudest and most primitive state, who destroys a piece of game, or a fish, with a club or spear, to man in the most cultivated state of society, who employs artifice, machinery, and the resources of various other animals, to secure his object, the origin of the pleasure is similar, and its object the same: but that kind of it requiring most art may be said to characterize man in his highest or intellectual state; and the fisher for salmon and trout with the fly employs not only machinery to assist his physical powers, but applies sagacity to conquer difficulties; and the pleasure derived from ingenious resources and devices, as well as from active pursuits, belongs to this amusement. Then, as to its philosophical tendency, it is a pursuit of moral discipline, requiring patience, forbearance, and command of temper.

“As connected with natural science, it may be vaunted as demanding a knowledge of the habits of a considerable tribe of created beings—fishes, and the animals that they prey upon, and an acquaintance with the signs and tokens of the weather, and its changes, the nature of waters, and of the atmosphere. As to its poetical relations, it carries us into the most wild and beautiful scenery of nature, amongst the mountain lakes, and the clear and lovely streams that gush from the higher ranges of elevated hills, or that make their way through the cavities of calcareous strata. How delightful in the early spring, after the dull and tedious time of winter, when the frosts disappear and the sunshine warms the earth and waters, to wander forth by some clear stream, to see the leaf bursting from the purple bud, to scent the odors of the bank perfumed by the violet, and enamelled as it were with the primrose and the daisy; to wander upon the fresh turf below the shade of trees, whose bright blossoms are filled with the music of the bee; and on the surface of the waters to view the gaudy flies sparkling like animated gems in the sunbeams, whilst the bright and beautiful trout is watching them from below; to hear the twittering of the water-birds, who, alarmed at your approach, rapidly hide themselves beneath the flowers and leaves of the water-lily; and, as the season advances, to find all these objects changed for others of the same kind, but better and brighter, till the swallow and the trout contend as it were for the gaudy Mayfly, and till in pursuing your amusement in the calm and balmy evening, you are serenaded by the songs of the cheerful thrush and melodious nightingale, performing the office of paternal love, in thickets ornamented with the rose and woodbine.”

While it is not all of fishing to fish, it does not consist entirely of preparation, and it must have something substantial as a basis for the day dream or fireside musing. You must catch some fish, as capital stock, to talk about. I never knew an angler that was satisfied to do all the listening.

In my native State the law makes it legally possible to wet a hook for speckled trout, for the first time each year on April first, and this day has come to be called “Opening Day,” and is spoken of in such glowing language that one might think it the opening of some vast commercial enterprise instead of the opening of the fishing season. As the result of an angler’s hopes and preparations, as I have tried, imperfectly, to sketch them, I will quote from my fishing diary what is there set down as one consummation:

“April 1st, 1878.—Opening day. Fished Halfway brook from Morgan brook to, and through the woods; then fished Ogden brook from Van Husen’s road to Gleason’s. Banks more than full of roily snow water; weather decidedly cold; strong wind from the Northwest; cloudy sky. Caught one small trout that I returned to his native element to grow; discovered from my single specimen of the Salvelinus fontinalis that they have the same bright spots that they have always had; look the same, smell the same, feel the same; other peculiarities lacking. Warm sun and rain required to develop the characteristics we so much admire in our leaping friend. Managed to fall into the Ogden brook—in fact, went in without the slightest difficulty, amid applause from the bank; discovered from my involuntary plunge that the water is just as wet as last year, and if memory serves, a trifle colder. Reached home in the evening, cold, wet, tired and hungry. Nevertheless, had a most glorious time.”

“These flies, I am sure, would kill fish.”—Charles Cotton.

“I would advise all experts to keep a well-filled fly-book. It is a pleasure to experiment, and the educated eye takes delight in looking at the varieties of colors, shapes and forms which the skilled workman in fly-art has provided as lures for the speckled beauties.”—George Dawson.

“Fly-fishing and bait-fishing are co-ordinate branches of the same study, and each must be thoroughly learned to qualify the aspirant to honors for the sublime degree of Master of the Art.”—Charles Hallock.

“Americans have reason to be proud of the black bass, for its game qualities endear it to the fisherman, and its nutty, sweet flavor to the gourmand.”—Parker Gilmore.

20. Black Maria.

21. Tipperlinn.

22. Premier.

23. Grizzly King.

24. Ferguson.