The Winter Angler 181 



where their subtle lines and undulations stand 

 out against the flowers, rising, falling, suddenly 

 dropping to come again. Of such dainty ephem- 

 eral things was this fly designed. 



The Dublin flies were marvellously attractive, 

 and one might imagine this man who had them 

 a great general instead of a great fly caster, as 

 he waved a sorry ghost of a fly and told of the 

 trout of eight pounds that he had laid low with 

 it. Thus challenged, every angler drew forth 

 old and dilapidated flies from some pocket in 

 his book announcing that thereby hung a tale. 



That old and ragged fly once killed a salmon 

 that weighed forty pounds, after a struggle of 

 two hours. When the fish was gaffed the hook 

 was hanging by a sliver of flesh. Here was a 

 book of flies from the Sierra Nevada Mountains, 

 made by a fly-maker who was snowed in all 

 winter and could do nothing but make flies, and 

 who lived in a hall of fame referred to in a 

 previous chapter. 



" I know of but one other hall of fame like 

 this," said one of the anglers. " It is at the 

 town of Tarpon on Aransas Pass, that Streeter, 

 Beebe, and Hooper of the Tuna Club raided with 

 light tackle, in all probability the best locality 

 for tarpon in the country and perhaps the most 

 isolated, as it is on a long low sandy island 

 about opposite Corpus Christi, Texas, and ten 

 or twelve miles offshore where the sea has beaten 



