THE BOOK OF THE TARPON 



Charles Dudley Warner expressed it to me, the 

 "lovely trout scenery." I remember many red 

 letter days, but I forget the bags that I made, 

 and when I try to recall the well-filled creel, or 

 the colors of the twenty-inch trout, I find that 

 they made no furrows in my brain. 



I have spent happy hours and days on famous 

 salmon streams, but the chief pleasure has come 

 through the charming scenery, the beautiful 

 pools, and the excitement of canoeing through 

 the white water of the rapids. My cherished 

 memory of the Miramichi is of the fishermen in- 

 stead of the fish, and the nightly symposiums, 

 filled with the genial humor and serious thoughts 

 of Joe Jefferson, have banished my recollection 

 of the days on the stream. 



To one who has known the tarpon, the feeble 

 efforts of the salmon to live up to its own reputa- 

 tion are saddening. The smooth, greasy way in 

 which it usually slips out of the water and slides 

 back into it reminds me of the action of the tar- 

 pon it is so different. 



Time would be wasted in seeking for compari- 

 sons among lesser fish than salmon, and a fish 

 that doesn't jump when played is quite out of 



246 



