CLEAR WATERS 



existence as in the momentary expectation of killing 

 my first fish, except in the accomplishment of that 

 great design. We had some four miles of water all to 

 ourselves on this river, and my companions, older and 

 comparatively trout-wise, were too intent on their 

 own performances to bother much about me. So I 

 thrashed the stream assiduously by the light of nature 

 through all the leisure hours of daylight with my un- 

 handy weapon for a full three weeks, though cheered 

 and properly startled by an occasional rise (ah ! those 

 first flashes of a yellow side above the ripple) before 

 the great moment came, and when it did come it was 

 rather extra glorious. 



Now, no knowledgeable angler will need to be told 

 that our trout in such a stream would average about 

 six to the pound. It had been dispiriting to return 

 empty-handed every day to a circle in which your 

 status, it might almost be said, for the warmer six 

 months depended upon your baskets. To say that 

 I can remember the spot out of which that first fish 

 was violently dragged would be ridiculously super- 

 fluous, since at this moment, after nearly half a century, 

 I can follow down in fancy that four miles of bewitch- 

 ing water, eddy by eddy, stickle by stickle, and pool 

 by pool. I don't know how that fish took my fly, or 

 why I became suddenly aware that he was engaged 

 in such an artless enterprise, for there was no sign 

 above water. But I did, which proves that I had 

 made some progress. I have more than once in later 

 years seen a small boy engaged with his first trout 

 and how he lets it run about the water shouting in the 

 meanwhile to the attendant parent as to what he was 



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