THE AMERICAN ANGLER. 



Vol. 26. 



SEPTEMBER, 1896. 



No. 9. 



A DAY ON THE PANUCO. 



Saint Isaac of Walton, general patron 

 of our lazy craft: What inspiration 

 would you not have drawn from waving" 

 trees and rolling waters if, instead of 

 "chubs and dace, little pike" and 

 graceful grayling, the mighty tarpon, 

 the fierce curel and shy curbina had in- 

 spired your pen. If, instead of wan- 

 dering beside the sluggish streams and 

 placid ponds of Merrie England, catching 

 the finny fingerlings that in quaint and 

 curious phrase you so graphically 

 describe, your lines had been cast in 

 our times, you had experienced 



' ' The stern joy that anglers feel 

 In playing fishes worthy of their skill." 



(With apologies to Sir Walter Scott). 



Then inspired indeed would have been 

 your pen. 



The Tamesi and Panuco know not 

 your footsteps. Never beneath the 

 shade of ceiba or higuera did 3^011 stroll. 

 Nor have the scaly cannibals of south- 

 ern waters brought your blood tingling 

 to the finger tips as you matched pliant 

 rod and hair-like line, backed by skill 

 and patience, against their savage rush 

 and desperate struggle to be free. You 

 lived before your time. You never 

 watched the bended rod and terse and 

 rigid line cutting the water like a wire 

 or slacking suddenly in limp uncertain 

 coils or wavey loops, as the fish tug, 

 jump, dart, plunge, or stop to rest and 

 gather strength to renew the struggle. 



" Chubs and dace and little pike " are 

 very nice. Black bass are fine for those 



who know naught better, but to feel 

 the blood tingling and the heart racing 

 with excitement, come South and match 

 yourself against the denizens of south- 

 ern streams. Here no cold winds chill 

 the waters; here the blood is always 

 warm, and the muscle ever supple; 

 here life is too sweet to be left without 

 a struggle, and the prick of the hook 

 and the pull of the line arouse to a 

 desperate resistance. The speckled 

 trout, the pike and mascalonge are 

 gentle, well-behaved fishes, purveyors 

 of placid excitement to the clerk and 

 carpet knight who, in correct costume 

 and with return trip ticket, sally from 

 their office doors for a few hours or 

 days of wild adventure. 'Tis not for 

 you, ye sartorially correct anglers, that 

 the scaly .savage of the sunny South 

 doth rush and struggle, fight and die in 

 his native waters. 



Even the wind hurried to the South 

 to escape the drifting sleet and barren 

 fields of Northern Winter, leaving 

 behind only the eternal hills that can- 

 not be moved, or people who had not 

 sense enough to move if they could. 



The "99" rolled into Tampico late 

 in the evening. The night was clear 

 and balmy, and the few miles run by 

 the river bank were delightful. The 

 houses on the further side shone dimly 

 against the trees, the out door fires 

 lighting with a hazy glare the various 

 groups of Indians, whose talk and 

 laughter came floating across the water 



