A Real Sportsman 



Mr. Don P. Cowles, of Council Bluffs, Iowa, sends 

 me a story which indeed " points a moral and adorns 

 a tale." Those of us who preach and practice ideals 

 in fishing will welcome Brother Cowles into the fold 

 with open arms. 



Mr. Cowles prefaces his story thus, 

 "Dear friend Dilg: Pardon me for addressing 

 you thus, but it seems perfectly natural for me after 

 having read so many interesting articles from your 

 pen on the one subject of which we have so much 

 in common, the black bass. I want to tell you that 

 you are in a large measure responsible for My Most 

 Tragic Fishing Moment and while this story may 

 not be eligible to this discussion, it nevertheless was 

 my most tragic moment while fishing." 



I was just nearing the end of a two weeks' fishing 

 trip on one of those picturesque Wisconsin lakes, where 

 I had enjoyed some royal sport with the gamy bronze 

 backs. They were the hardest and most wonderful 

 fighters I had ever been introduced to. I was fishing 

 alone this particular evening and was casting along 

 the edge of a sunken island where I had taken four 

 fine bass, the last of which had given me the greatest 

 display of the fighting instinct they possess that I ever 



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