The King of Half-Moon Bay 



Here is a charming little tale by Carl C. Cowles, 

 of Council Bluffs, Iowa, and when I call it charm- 

 ing, I mean it. The fisherman who can read it with- 

 out its reaching his angling blood is little to be en- 

 vied. It is a pleasure to print this story, and I know 

 that the reader will thank brother Cowles for having 

 written it, just as I do. 



I disclose no secret to those who know me when I 

 confess that my possessing and all-consuming hobby 

 is fish it has been as far back as my memory goes, 

 and that runs back to the time when as a barefooted 

 boy of less than ten I plodded three miles over the 

 dust-laden country road to a lazy little country 

 stream to send the lowly bullhead flying from his 

 muddy home in a high and mighty arc over my head 

 to safety on the meadow grass a dozen yards behind. 

 Since those 'days I have had the good fortune, and I 

 am still in the twenties, to fish in your own beautiful 

 and legendary waters of the North, Mr. Dilg, and 

 yet again in the shadow of the rugged hills of your 

 Zane Grey's beloved Clemente. 



Now as I turn back the pages of memory to each 

 of those golden days and one by one fight over again 



73 



