148 



FOREST AND STREAM. 



[March 16, 1888, 



whicb the meeting accepted by electing every candidate 

 presented, by ballot, and in' every case almost unani- 

 mously. Major L. G. "White, who has served several 

 years as president, declined a re-election. The officers 

 elected are: President, Gilbert J. Rugg; First Vice- 

 President. A. B. Kinney; Second Vice-President, E. S. 

 Knowles; Secretary, E. F. Swan; Treasurer, M. D. Gil- 

 man; Executive Committee, E, T. Smith, V. F. Prentice, 

 R. L. Golbert, Corren Doane. 



It was voted to hold a tournament on Fast Day, which 

 occurs on April 5. E. Spragtje Knowles. 



Worcester, Mass., March 8. 



Billings, Mont. — Several gentlemen interested in the 

 pursuit of wild game and the strict observance of the 

 game laws, have formed the Billings Game Protective 

 Association, O. F. Goddard, President, and Chas. Harris, 

 Secretary. 



hd mid Mticr 



Ad/Arm all communications to the Forest and Stream Pub. Co. 



All readers who are interested in the protection of the 

 Yellowstone National Park, are invited to co-operate with 

 this journal in the endeavor to secure needed legislation. 

 Petitions will be sent to all who will undertake to have 

 them signed and forwarded to "Washington. 



FLY-TABLE TALKS AND NOTES.— I. 



JULIAN HAWTHORNE in recent comments on novel 

 writing and literature made several suggestions which 

 were fascinating to me. Fhad many times thought of offer- 

 ing to the readers of the Fobest and Stream bits of talk 

 from the fly-room, extracts from letters relating to flies, 

 fishing and kindred topics; but the difficulty in arranging 

 all these so that they would hold your interest, the possi- 

 bility of the need of giving some urgent reason why I 

 should offer them at all, made me hesitate when really 

 feeling that many of these letters which I received might 

 arouse discussion and create greater knowledge. Haw 

 thorne writes: 



If stories were told by word of mouth instead of being written 

 in a book, they miglit (other things being equal) be of purer qual- 

 ity, for then a look, a tone, a gesture of the hand, would suffice 

 to connect and relate, the parts which in writing must be circum- 

 stantially specified and explained; the story must be a continu- 

 ous web, not a scries of impressions flashed disconnectedly upon 

 the mind. In some fortunate themes, in which the soul of the 

 idea, as it were, transfigures the body of it, those connections 

 appear slight; and the tact, and ingenuity of the writer may render 

 them practically inoffensive if not agreeable, but the one "entire 

 and perfect chrysolite"' still eludes the resources of literary 

 chemistry. 



1 felt the "one entire and perfect chrysolite" so unat- 

 tainable, and literary chemistry so complicated, that as I 

 have said, I hesitated, but I found encouragement in his 

 further words, in which he says: 



And yet some alleviation of the difficulty ought to be possible, 

 or at least conceivable, I should be inclined to look for it in the 

 direction of a more nearly complete sympathy between the 

 reader and writer. As matters stand now, the latter places very 

 little confidence in the ability of the former to comprehend or 

 interpret the significance of what is submitted to him, and there- 

 fore he enters into explanations and circumlocutions. The 

 reader, on his side, is by long custom so habituated to this con- 

 stant assistance from the writer, that as soon as he takes up the 

 book be instinctively divests himself of all independent activity, 

 and constitutes himself a merely passive recipient of whatever 

 treatment is administered to him. He sits still and lets the 

 author do all the work; and it is not surprising if a good deal of 

 energy has to be wasted in the effort simply to keep the reader 

 a wake. The mutual relation is a false one, if indeed there can be 

 said to bo any relation at all. It bears aualogy to the attitude 

 toward each other of the sexes in certain barbarous or perverse 

 natious, where the women, being treated like imbeciles, evince 

 their intelligent aptitude in the only way left to them, to wit, by 

 becoming slaves or imbeciles. But such, nations fall into decay 

 and barrenness, because the man cannot abuse or neglect the 

 woman without suffering at. least as much as she does. Intelligent 

 and highly civilized communities expect much more of their 

 women, aad the women invariably prove themselves adequate to 

 any demand made upon them. They become the true helpmates 

 that their Creator intended them to be, and all goes prosperously 

 and merry as a marriage bell. 



Between the writer and the reader then, a certain marriage of 

 the intellectual and sympathetic faculties should always exist. 

 The hook must be rendered complete not by the writing of it, but 

 by the -writing assisted by the reading. He must liberate bis 

 imagination, he must awaken bis understanding, he must open 

 the fountains of his knowledge and culture. He must feel that 

 he shares the responsibility of its truth and excellence, and that 

 be, no less than the writer, is liable to blame for its deficiencies. 

 If this be recognized then literature will grow to heights un- 

 dreamed of. 



Now, is not this a most charming and ingenious sug- 

 gestion? I admit, of course, that Julian Hawthorne in- 

 tended mine and less than we shall avail ourselves of; 

 but as a grain of salt hints of the ocean, may we not 

 accept the suggestion, if not the whole? I therefore call 

 upon you who read, the editor permitting, to fill out 

 complete what I offer you; to supply, by imagination, 

 discussion and added facts, deficiencies; and as our much 

 respected Walton once said, "To invite you to it, I do 

 here promise you that, for my part, I will be as free and 

 open-hearted, as discretion will warrant me to be wit h a 

 stranger." 



Is it needful to describe the fly-table? I might do so, 

 but the details and surroundings would, perhaps, not be 

 interesting; and, if given accurately, you might wonder 

 the table is not in better order. Others have hinted that 

 to pie at times. You might think the little room wherein 

 it stands crowded, with the big and little fly-cases, the 

 round table with iamps and books, and the easy chairs, 

 which won't stay out. You would, perhaps say, "It is 

 not business-like," and go on to tell me that a room like 

 this should be devoted to the work alone, and books, easy 

 chairs and visitors should all be forbidden or relegated to 

 the adjoining library. Nearly every one who comes to 

 the room doe.- say this, so I should not wonder at you for 

 saying the same; but if not "business-like," it is very 

 social. 



It is the one place in the house where smoking is 

 allowed, being good for the feathers, you know; and I 

 have observed that to idle poople it is always interesting 

 to watch others busily occupied ; it provides them with 

 entertainment with no personal exertions. So into the 

 fly-room come one and another, dragging easy chairs after 

 them; staying sometimes to talk, sometimes to read aloud, 

 while the regular occupants with busy fingers are quietly 

 turning, whirling and looping hooks, feathers, silk and 

 tinsel to create the — I think once or twice in my life I 

 have heard them called— "feathery lures." 



I wish that I'had the talent of a Bos well to record con- 

 versation, and could give you some of the arguments 

 touching upon many topics. One or two of the occu- 

 pants, and two or three of the frequenters of the fly-room 

 have a steadfastness about their own opinions,' which 

 same they do Inot hesitate to express. I should It Ice to 

 present these opinions to you who read, and let vou be 

 umpire; some time in the future I may. But just now 

 we are snow-bound. Callers are few, 'and conversation 

 lags. 



Looking out you may see only a white expanse of 

 snow, such snow as city dwellers can hardly imagine. 

 A week ago I crossed Liberty street in New York, wading 

 through a mass of gray drift, not thinking much of it, 

 except in despair at the dirt, until some one said: 

 "Just think of it, all this is snow!" Snow! Snow means 

 to me whiteness and glitter piled in masses until one 

 almost loses belief that it can ever disappear and uncover 

 green fields, golden cowslips and violets blue. Snow, as 

 1 look out upon it now, is heaped fence high; covers 

 every house roof with a thick soft blanket; caps all the 

 window frames: is lodged in every notch of the branch- 

 ing trees, and whitens each horizontal limb. The short 

 trunks of the apple trees are hidden and the branches 

 circle and bend till their tips meet the rising mass under- 

 neath. Looking further the hills rise still higher, white 

 and glistening, immense sugar loaves apparently, but of 

 cold instead of sweetness. Behind them and throwing 

 them into bold relief are the mountains, blue walls round 

 our entire valley. Occasional patches of white here and 

 there on the mountains betray the autumn fires; and you 

 remember the nights you stood watching them burn. 

 Again you hear the rustle of the dry leaves under your 

 feet, smell their sweet, moist breath and the delicate, 

 far-away smoke; feel the soft wind on your face, and 

 look to see it rouse the faint, flickering light to bright, 

 darting flames up against the dusk of a murky sky. The 

 vagueness of the sky is spaced here and there by the 

 mild glow of stars which have lost all then* glitter, and 

 the moon is warm and red, watching all through a veil, 

 instead her usual cold, calm self. Can this be the same 

 sky to-day? Only a shade lighter blue than the moun- 

 tains: one wide, wide arch 'of 'color, unbroken except by 

 the silhouettes of the naked trees. I like better the 

 warmth and glow of the autumn night; but the beauty 

 of this day is marvellous, the purity of it tin appeal. 



The roads are not even lined in any color, they are 

 merely a break in the smoothness, tossing up broken 

 blocks on either side, and you can look way beyond into 

 the fields, seeing the only thing you ever may which 

 comes from Heaven and returns unsullied. 



The trains are all delayed, but they still struggle through 

 to us each day, bringing their budgets of letters, which 

 are the only break in the monotony" of work and reading. 

 I propose to give you parts of some of these same letters, 

 hoping they may be to you something of the pleasure 

 they have been to ourselves. Some of you who read these 

 papers will recognize your own words, and I trust you 

 will not tliink it a liberty I am taking. I would like to 

 give your names with the extracts from -your letters, I, of 

 course, shall not do that without your permission, and to 

 obtain it would require much time; but T shall venture to 

 offer to other fishermen some of your ideas, for they are 

 many of them too good to be lost, and some of them — 

 well, some of them — w^ell, we will let the readers decide 

 for us. 



Letters come to me from all parts of the country, giv- 

 ing the experience of many men in various sections. I 

 fancy this experience may be of interest and benefit to 

 others. I hardly know where to begin to select, so will 

 take this which came a day or two ago and lies on top of 

 the pile, written from Minnesota, which reads: 



"I herewith send you a rude fly. It is the only one of 

 the species, dead or alive, that I have any knowledge of. 

 During the latter part of last season, while spending a 

 few days on a small stream in Wisconsin, I made three 

 or four flies something like the one I send to you — I say 

 something like it, for I could not make two alike— and 

 much to my surprise I caught more trout with them than 

 any other fly used. My mode of fishing with this fly was 

 by wading down stream, using a long, stiff rod and'short 

 line; leader and line not more than 5ft. 



"It was not possible to cast on this stream so I simply 

 trolled from side to side, much in the same manner as 

 bait-fishing is practiced on swift, shallow streams. 



"The materials used in making this fly are Carlisle 

 hooks soldered together, silk, gut, horse hair and dental 

 rubber, 'Dam No. 2.' My idea is to make the body of 

 silk and cover it throughout with the flat pieces of gut, 

 made in this way they are almost indestructible. 



"I would like to know if something of this kind made 

 more artistically will please the trout belter than the 

 bungling ones used last year. If this specimen suggests 

 anything new or of use to you I shall be pleased to know 

 that I have contributed something to my fellow anglers." 



Accompanying this letter was a tiny wooden box, and 

 snugly packed in cotton the insect mentioned. The 

 wings are of rubber, laid flat over the back, feet of horse 

 hair, body wound with gut, double hooks. 



lbave had many letters of inquiry in times past for 

 the best flies and the best methods for these wild Wiscon- 

 sin streams, perhaps when all else fails this new creation, 

 which is really very attractive, may be "just the thing," 

 who can tell? 



Looking up from the page my eyes fall upon a pack- 

 age of older letters which I have placed in a bundle to- 

 gether as too good to be lost to sight Here is one from 

 a fly-fisherman with many, many years of experience: a 

 man who could undoubtedly hold your attention for long 

 hours with his knowledge of men and fishing. His letter 

 gives the history of a much-used and most admirable 

 little fly called the Beaverkill. I am sure you will be glad 

 to read of it and have the record preseived, so I will give 

 the letter nearly entire: 



"My Dear Orvis— Your kind and pleasant letter of 

 the 10th came to hand on the following day. The two 

 flies mentioned were not inclosed, hence I cannot express 

 any opinion concerning them. 



"The opinion of an angler as to the merits of a fly does 

 not amount to much unless founded upon his experience 

 in its use. Sometimes I have bought flies new to me 

 because they looked 'taking' and have found them so; 

 but more frequently I have found them 'no good'. The 

 three flies Avith which I have caught the largest num- 

 ber of trout are (1st) gray hackle with scarlet body wound 

 with silver tinsel, (2d) coachman forfevening fishing, and 

 (3d) Beaverkill. The latter fly I introduced and named, 



" "About forty years ago my first fly-book was filled with 

 English flies of great variety, there being generally but 

 three of a kind. Among them was a fly unknown to me 

 which I chanced to put on with two others to fish a large 

 and beautiful pool under a high Ml on Mill Brook, Dela- 

 ware county, N. Y. Within an hour I took upon this fly 

 alone from that pool thirty-two trout, averaging from 

 four to sixteen ounces each. My two companions, both 

 older, better and more experienced anglers, did nothing 

 i n comparison until I gave each of them one of the two 

 remaining flies, when then sport became good. When 

 the bout was over the best preserved of the three flies 

 was given to Harry Pritchard. with an order to make 

 three dozen 'Beaverkills' like it. 



"It has proved an excellent fly; not always the best, but 

 n tore frequently so than any I have used except the gray- 

 hackle. I have used it on all the streams hereabout in 

 Massachusetts, Jodn Brown's Tract, etc., and generally 

 with success. A few years ago I was in Pritchard's 

 selecting flies. As I was taking from the case and count- 

 ing out a dozen or two of the Beaverkills, a gentleman, 



whom Harry introduced to me as Col. , remarked 



to me, 'I think that the best fly in the world. My cousin 

 brought me from London some English flies. This was 

 among them. I gave one to Harry, and he has made and 

 sold thousands of them.' I looked smilingly at Harry, 

 when he in his slow way said, 'Colonel, that gentleman 

 [pointing to me] was the one that introduced that fly 

 more than thirty years ago. He showed me the first one 

 I ever saw, and named it. That fly you brought me as a 

 sample was made by me, I recognized it hi a moment. 

 Whether your cousin bought it in London or New York, 

 I made the fly.' The Colonel looked rather crestfallen 

 and left. Harry then said, 'He has been telling that 

 story for years. I didn't undeceive him, becaxxse I did 

 not care anything about it; but when he told this to you, 

 who knew better, I thought I had better tell him the his- 

 tory of the fly.' * * * When I began this I thought 

 two pages of note paper would fill the bill. Pardon an 

 old man's garrulity." 



The preference expressed for the gray-hackle in this 

 letter reminds me of what "Bourgeois" has said of it in 

 "The Kod and Line in Colorado Waters," in relating his 

 funny experience in teaching a beginner how to fish with 

 a fly. He writes at the end of it: "When I gave him a 

 gray-hackle and told him that was to the trout what 

 bread was to civilized man, a staple article of which he 

 seldom grew tired, or if he did, to try the brown-hackle, 

 winch, still like the bread, was a wholesome change; that 

 if he could get neither the gray or the brown, then to 

 take a grasshopper, pull off his legs and wings, and string 

 it upon a No. 6 Kirby." Later he tells us: "In the mat- 

 ter of hues the taste of the trout must be considered; to 

 ail else you may consult your own. It is well to have in 

 your fly-books a little of everything, but of gray and 

 brown-hackles, as already intimated, coachmen and pro- 

 fessors an abundance." 



There is a temptation to quote further, for was there 

 ever a more delicious blending in any book written, of 

 sensible fishing tactics, fun, dainty sentiment and droll 

 philosophy. The opening chapter, first published as a 

 little sketch in a weekly paper, attracted my attention 

 and won my hearty interest in its author. He can never 

 write anything better than that same chapter, although 

 he has written much that is good since. "A broad river 

 with its low-lying south shore heavily timbered and rich 

 in early summer verdure; a long bridge with a multitude 

 of Ioav stone piers and trestle work at top; in midstream, 

 two miles away, the black hull and tall masts of a man- 

 o'-war, lying idly; between and beyond, the smooth bosom 

 of the blue expanse dotted with fishing sloops under 

 weather-beaten wings, moving lazily hither and yon : to 

 the north, but invisible save a straggling outer edge of 

 tumble-down houses— a possibility then— now 'they tell 

 me,' a magnificent city; a decayed wharf with no signs 

 of life, and draped in tangled seaweed that came in with 

 the last tide, the jagged and blackened piles stand brood- 

 ing over the solemn stillness like melancholy sentinels 

 sorrowing over a dead ambition. The ripple of the waves 

 is a melody and the air is fragrant with a brackish sweet- 

 ness." 



All this is a vision to me, ever since the reading; and the 

 "little fellow, barefoot, coatless and with a ragged straw 

 hat who crawls out from one of the center piers of the old 

 bridge." whose story is told, one to pity and to like. You 

 read : "Success will often take an old boy, let alone a young 

 one, off his feet; and it sometimes leads to indiscretion 

 and results in worse than failure, and again is the corner- 

 stone of a noble monument. That boy had fished with 

 success off that pier more than once, but had kept his 

 fish-pole and left the evidences of his disobedience at a 

 friendly neighbor's. This day he marched straight home, 

 fish-pole and all. The sable ruler of the kitchen con- 

 firmed upon sight, the lurking apprehensions that would 

 not down in spite of triumph. 'Ah! honey, whar's you 

 bin dis livelong day? Miss Mary's gwine to give it to you, 

 We's bin a-huntin' an' trapsin' all over dis here town", an' 

 yo' pa, he was jis gwine.' " 



The home court which followed, the "sable ruler" 

 chief wdtness, the "brown eyes which questioned," and 

 the "gray eyes" which saw and judged, and whose 

 owner finally said: "Hold on, my boy; do not misunder- 

 stand; papa will trust you; you shall have the best tackle 

 in town." 



"Why do you deal with the boy in this way?" remon- 

 strated the mother. 



"Why? Because I myself was a boy once, and I don't 

 want to forget it." 



"But the boy drifted with the tide over the Blue Ridge 

 and the Alleghenies, and twenty odd years ago he 

 anchored in the wilderness, where Denver now stands, to 

 surprise you folks from down East." One of the most 

 welcome letters on the. "Fly-Table" is from this same 

 boy, now so many years older, and in it he writes that 

 "some day, perhaps before long, he must come East to 

 have a good talk with his friends." 



The fly-room doors will open widely to welcome this 

 genial fisherman, and to meet him will come another, I 

 trust, whose last letter lies in friendliest proximity to his. 

 The latter letter speaks of many matters interesting to all 

 fishermen, of which you may hear more and directly 

 from the writer instead of second-hand, but I must take 

 a bit of it which refers to another book on fishing and 

 camping and its author: 



"Had a letter from John Danforth to-day written in 

 Canada. John walked over the line about thirty niiles — 

 a bee line, over mountains and through swamps, in a 



