TALES OF FISHES 



More than once some benighted angler had men- 

 tioned bonefish to me. These individuals always 

 appeared to be quiet, retiring fishermen who hesi- 

 tated to enlarge upon what was manifestly close to 

 their hearts. I had never paid any attention to 

 them. "Who ever heard of a bonefish, anyway? 

 The name itself did not appeal to my euphonious 

 ear. 



But on this 1916 trip some faint glimmering must 

 have penetrated the density of my cranium. I had 

 always prided myself upon my conviction that I did 

 not know it all, but, just the same, I had looked 

 down from my lofty height of tuna and swordfish 

 rather to despise little salt-water fish that could not 

 pull me out of the boat. The waahoo and the dol- 

 phin had opened my eyes. When some mild, quiet, 

 soft-voiced gentleman said bonefish to me again I 

 listened. Not only did I listen, I grew interested. 

 Then I saw a couple of bonefish. They shone like 

 silver, were singularly graceful in build, felt heavy 

 as lead, and looked game all over. I made the mental 

 observation that the man who had named them 

 bonefish should have had half of that name applied 

 to his head. 



After that I was more interested in bonefish. I 

 never failed to ask questions. But bonefishermen 

 were scarce and as reticent as scarce. To sum up all 

 of my inquiries, I learned or heard a lot that left me 

 completely bewildered, so that I had no idea whether 

 a bonefish was a joke or the grandest fish that swims. 

 I deducted from the amazing information that if a 

 fisherman sat all day in the blazing sun and had 

 the genius to discover when he had a bite he was 



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