TALES OF FISHES 



not to practise strife, not to use violence, not to fish 

 or hunt — that is to say, not to fight — is to retrograde 

 as a natural man. Spiritual and intellectual growth 

 is attained at the expense of the physical. 



Always, then, when I am fishing I feel that the 

 fish are incidental, and that the reward of effort 

 and endurance, the incalculable and intangible 

 knowledge emanate from the swelling and infinite 

 sea or from the shaded and murmuring stream. Thus 

 I assuage my conscience and justify the fun, the joy, 

 the excitement, and the violence. 



Five years ago I had never heard of a bonefish. 

 The first man who ever spoke to me about this 

 species said to me, very quietly with serious intent- 

 ness: "Have you had any experience with bone- 

 fish?" I said no, and asked him what kind that 

 was. His reply was enigmatical. "Well, don't go 

 after bonefish unless you can give up all other fish- 

 ing." I remember I laughed. But I never forgot 

 that remark, and now it comes back to me clear 

 in its significance. That fisherman read me as well 

 as I misunderstood him. 



Later that season I listened to talk of inexperi- 

 enced bonefishermen telling what they had done 

 and heard. To me it was absurd. So much fishing 

 talk seems ridiculous, anyway. And the expert fish- 

 ermen, wherever they were, received the expressive 

 titles: "Bonefish Bugs and Bonefish Nuts!" Again 

 I heard arguments about tackle rigged for these 

 mysterious fish and these arguments fixed my vague 

 impression. By and by some bonefishermen came 

 to Long Key, and the first sight of a bonefish made 



me curious. I think it weighed five pounds — a fair- 

 ies 



