"And I Was Present!" 



Being perhaps too serious minded a fisherman my- 

 self, practical jokes about fishing have never appealed 

 to me very much, but Mr. P. H. Moore of Moore's 

 Camp, Lake Rossignol, Nova Scotia, has sent me 

 in a story so well written, so amusing, so original 

 and so human that I know you will enjoy it. Per- 

 sonally I am perfectly sure that I too would have 

 fallen. 



As the migratory birds flock, cackle and feed to- 

 gether for the great flight to the South in the fall, so 

 every spring do the skillful and migratory fishermen 

 gather around the club tables in New York to cackle 

 and feed while planning their vernal and piscatorial 

 adventures in the North. Whether their skill lies in 

 the way they do it or in the way they tell it is a secret 

 known only to many close-mouthed and wise-eyed old 

 guides who hibernate in the outposts of civilization 

 while recuperating from the arduous labors pertaining 

 to their professions, which consist largely of baiting 

 hooks for fly-fishermen and of accepting the lion's 

 share of their employer's winter earnings. 



A boastful triumvirate of talented and empirical 

 lovers of the dry fly and the wet story were outdoing 



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