114 
FOREST AND STREAM 
March, 1921 
SOME TROUT FISHING MEMORIES 
LUCKY INDEED IS THE BOY WHO LIVES IN A COUNTRY OF TROUT STREAMS 
FOR HE WILL UNCONSCIOUSLY IMBIBE THE SPIRIT OF A LASTING HAPPINESS 
By THEODORE GORDON 
I N the spring a young man’s fancy 
lightly turns to thoughts of fishin’! 
In fact, the enthusiasts begin to think 
and talk about their anticipated sport in 
the early days of January, and stimulate 
their imaginations as to what they will 
do, by reading all the angling literature 
they have leisure for. 
They remember past days lovingly: 
not a big fish landed or lost has been 
forgotten. I honestly believe that 1 
have a feeling of depression NOW, when 
I recall the loss of certain great trout 
in my early youth; and at the time I 
was inconsolable. 
I have always been thankful to the 
Gods of rivers and brooks for allowing 
me to live in a trout country, and near 
a number of fine streams during those 
early years of development into the 
sportsman; from about 11 to 19 years 
of age. 
I was introduced to the game by an 
old fisherman whose standards were 
none too high. He was really a good 
hand with the artificial fly, but usually 
preferred bait, as it was easier fishing 
and he claimed was responsible for 
larger trout. With such coaching I 
naturally began my fishing for trout 
with worms, and fished the tributaries 
of the fly-fishing waters, or followed 
some of the rapid streams in the moun- 
tains north and south of our valley. 
Those to the north were the Blue Moun- 
tains of Pennsylvania, the South Moun- 
tains were lower, but held one very fine 
brook, which found a way down a rough, 
thickly brushed valley; where occa- 
sionally deer, ruffed grouse and wood- 
cock were started by the angler. I 
saw one woodcock deliberately swim 
across a quiet pool on one occasion, but 
that is another story and might not be 
valued as the truth deserves. 
O NE afternoon after I had caught 
nine trout of barely takable size 
on bait I met a well-known sports- 
man named Jim — M — ., a handsome 
man who presented a natty appearance 
in his well-cut fishing clothes. He was 
using an exquisite split-bamboo rod that 
had been presented to him, and all of his 
equipment was of the very best. 
The time of day was near the end of 
the evening rise and trout of two or 
three ounces to three-quarters of a 
pound were rising lazily. The scene of 
action was a meadow where the stream 
was broad, and slow; moss and clean 
green water weeds grew in the pure 
spring water, and there was always a 
OME of our older readers will 
remember the author of this 
little fishing sketch and recall with 
pleasure his many contributions 
to Forest and Stream. His de- 
lightful reports on the Beaverkill 
and Neversink rivers did much to 
interest anglers in those famous 
trout streams. This manuscript 
has been chosen from a number 
that came into our hands after his 
death. [Editors.] 
heavy stock of trout in this* meadow, 
but they were very hard to catch; noth- 
ing could be done with bait in about a 
mile of the stream. 
Mr. — M — had not brought a creel, 
but a clean white canvas sack, which he 
thrust into the big inside pocket of his 
coat. When he lugged this out to 'de- 
posit a fish therein, I was astonished to 
see that it was filled with trout. 
The angler was kind and patient with 
the boy; answering his questions as they 
walked homeward together, and present- 
ing him with one of the artificial flies 
that had killed all those fish. It was a 
favorite pattern in Southern Pennsyl- 
vania as tied by a dresser in Philadel- 
phia, and resembled a March Brown 
with guinea fowl wings. It failed after 
the old fly-maker died, as it was never 
tied true to pattern. 
I resolved to become a fly-fisher, and 
by splicing I made up a light rod that 
would cast a fly, using all the bits of 
old rods I had at my disposal. The 
next Saturday I caught 22 small trout 
on the fly that had been given to me, 
and was tremendously elated; imagin- 
ing myself to be a born fly-fisher. But 
my ethical standards were weak, and 
I am afraid that the boy thought more 
of getting the trout, in any old way, 
than of reducing them to possession 
in a scientific manner. I was an ex- 
citable little wretch and had a perfect 
genius for smashing fly rods. Pocket 
money was saved for months for a new 
weapon, which was probably broken in 
a few days. The hardware store at 
which I traded took advantage of my 
ignorance and sold me rods built of 
poor materials at long prices. How- 
ever, I was learning, and what was 
more, teaching myself to tie a good fly. 
I will never forget the holiday when, 
after working all morning tieing five 
flies, I went to the nearest stream and 
killed 13 beautiful native brook trout, 
from % to V 2 lbs. in weight. The flies 
had not been securely finished at the 
head, or they would have endured more 
hard work, and taken more trout. Al- 
ways use the whip finish; as half 
hitches are the lazy man’s makeshift. 
T HERE was a stretch of about IV 2 
miles of ancient canal; dug in the 
days of the early settlers to feed 
a grist mill, and in the long years, it 
had become more of a natural stream 
than a canal. There were great deep 
holes under giant weeping willow 
trees, and the roots of these created 
safe cover for big fish. 
Proceeding up stream one dark day 
toward the end of April, I met a local 
fish hawk, with his home-made rod 
and three trout. I had seen no such 
fish in those waters, up to that time. 
The smallest full 1% lbs. and the larg- 
est over 1% lbs. The man was com- 
municative and said that these trout 
only fed oh such dark days ; the 
weather must be dismal with overcast 
skies, and a light rain was favorable. 
I said that the eddies and currents 
in the big holes were very uncertain 
and often threw the worm to the sur- 
face. He warned me that I must use 
a little lead, and gave me the correct 
weight in tea lead to use. A large 
worm was to be the bait, and the hook 
hidden, while a long end was allowed 
to wiggle. He told me that he had 
killed trout up to 2% pounds and that 
few people knew of the heavy stock of 
trout hidden in a mile of the old canal. 
Even men who were advised of their 
presence rarely creeled one of the 
larger fish. 
Of course the boy immediately de- 
veloped an incipient case of buck fever 
and began to dream of monsters, at 
night. It was evident that the patched 
up fly rod was no weapon for the con- 
templated attack, so we visited the 
hardware store, and paid $3.00 for a 
four-joint bait rod, which I presumed 
to be well made. I felt competent to 
deal with any fish in the county. I 
had to wait for the weather and a holi- 
day to join hands, before I could hope 
for success, but the day came at last 
and I walked off immediately after 
breakfast. At the point where I hit 
the canal there had been a set of gates 
and an old forebay, and below a bunch 
of piles that stood up in the water, 
there was quite a wide, deep pool. 
Above the piles a handsome trout took 
the worm savagely and was quickly 
landed, as it did not exceed % lbs., but 
