Tragic Fishing Moments 



the dry fly method may be the better way. However 

 that may be, it seems true to me that in the process 

 of our development as fishermen, whether we are con- 

 scious of the fact or not, there comes a crystalliza- 

 tion of sentiment and opinion in matters of sportsman- 

 ship. There are few of us who for selfish reasons 

 will destroy another's pleasure and few who are not 

 good fellows among men wherever we meet. 



As a boy of from twelve to eighteen years of age 

 I used to fish for trout in a beautiful stream in Penn- 

 sylvania. Boyish sentiment placed a halo around my 

 recollections of days of pleasure spent along its course. 

 I was a bait fisherman then. Worms gathered while 

 I spaded the garden kept in moist dirt in the cellar 

 until they curled into a knot and turned bright red 

 were my particular lure. 



When about eighteen years of age I moved some 

 hundreds of miles away and became so engrossed in 

 work that I did not have opportunity to return to 

 my old home and friends during the open season 

 for nearly ten years. During this time I became con- 

 verted to fly-fishing. Finally business made it impera- 

 tive that I return in the Spring of one year, and I 

 took my tackle along, determined that I would take 

 time to enjoy at least part of a day on that old stream 

 so entwined in my boyhood memories. I wanted to 

 try some of those old favorite holes and rapids with 

 a fly. 



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