Tragic Fishing Moments 



I had long believed essential in fly-fishing went into the 

 discard here, and I had reason to wish for sturdier 

 tackle, for my two ^A ounce rods one nine feet, 

 the other nine feet six inches were being put to tests 

 that were equally trying on both rod and mind. 



On the afternoon of the third day, Mr. T. and I 

 went off upstream while the Doctor took off down- 

 stream, saying that he intended to offer them a bare 

 hook and see if they wouldn't take it. In a short time; 

 Mr. T. had brought three beauties to net, while my 

 own basket held six trout as pretty as mortal man 

 ever saw. So we sat down out in the meadow, away^ 

 from the stream, to rest a bit and fire up the old chim- 

 neys. Here we took stock and decided that regardless 

 of the Doctor's luck we had quite enough fish for our 

 present need. 



Now I contend stoutly that I am not a fish hog, but 

 I have my weakness I am a hog for fishing ! This 

 trouble has rested upon me for years, and knowing this 

 my fly book has long contained a varied assortment of 

 flies tied on barbless hooks. Sitting there in the 

 meadow I decided that now was a fitting and proper 

 time to take my friend and pupil beyond the vale of 

 common things into the sanctum sanctorum of dry-fly 

 fishing. I prefaced my actions with a short lecture on 

 the sport of fishing gamely for game fish, and when I 

 finally reached the point, the consternation and dismay 

 of my friend knew no bounds. He called heaven to 



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