216 
FOREST AND STREAM 
May, 1919 
A REJUVENATION 
TO GET THE MOST OUT OF FISHING ONE MUST APPROACH THE 
HUMBLE CATTIE IN THE SAME SPIRIT AS ONE DOES THE TROUT 
By LEONARD HULIT, Associate Editor of FOREST AND STREAM 
I T has been aptly 
said that it is not 
all of fishing to 
“catch fish” equally 
may it be said that 
it is not all of 
“ catching fish ” to 
catch the more im- 
p 0 r t a n t varieties. 
The writer would not for a moment 
decry the glory of capturing salmon or 
trout, nor the battle with the sturdy 
black bass when it is done with appli- 
ances which are the last word or thought 
of the tackle maker’s art. 
And who will ever aptly tell the su- 
preme satisfaction the angler feels when 
with deft hand the pliant split bamboo 
lays the delicate silk line and single gut 
leader with delusive fly, light as a this- 
tle’s down, at the exact spot on the dis- 
tant pool, to be snapped up by a glori- 
ous creature springing like a sunbeam 
from the depths, to be finally creeled — 
a victim of fine tackle and fine art? In- 
deed such “finesse” may be embodied 
that the wielder of the rod may have 
spent untold hours debating with an 
equally enthusiastic fisherman as to 
whether he should fish up or down 
stream, and' sustaining his argument as 
a zealot might in defense of his reli- 
gion. 
All this is very well and no criticism 
is intended but what of the man who 
“goes a fishin,” who knows nothing of 
technique and has but little wealth to 
bestow on equipment? If a trout takes 
his hook well and good ; it is uncere- 
moniously taken from the element of its 
life and strung on a willow sprout to be 
joined later by some humbler species, per- 
haps perch or the despised brook sucker. 
And who is there 
to say with em- 
phasis or conclu- 
sion there is no 
touch of technique 
here? Just one of 
the many troubles 
of life may have 
sent the man to the 
brookside. Ill 
health or business 
cares may be his 
lot and surcease of 
these his object. 
Crude may be his 
outfit but one may 
notice the bright- 
ening eye as he se- 
lects his pliant 
birch, or maple 
pole. 
Poise and bal- 
ance may not be as 
perfect as in the 
expensive article 
but here we are 
confronted by the 
mastering fact: the man by his look 
shows he is completely satisfied with his 
selection. How much more can one have 
than that? The man knows the spot he 
will try; down in the old meadow where 
the freshets of years have washed out a 
wide and deep pool at the foot of the 
old maple. It has been several years 
since he visited the place and his quick 
eye takes in the fact that some of the 
top branches of the old tree show signs 
of decay. 
He heaves a sigh of satisfaction at the 
thought that all nature travels in the 
same direction and that he is not an ex- 
ception. Experience in the past has 
taught him that he may, if his luck is 
with him, take any of several varieties 
of fish. 
Trout as well as pickerel have been 
taken there in the past by him but it is 
best to never count on such. Commoner 
fish are always more to be expected and 
with that too he is satisfied. Oh the 
satisfaction there is in being satisfied! 
As he pushes his way across the open 
meadow a bed of buttercups smile up 
at him and he pauses a moment to look 
at an industrious bee drinking among 
the petals of the flowers. 
He falls to wondering where the hive of 
the workers may be and who may enjoy 
the delicious sweetness the coming winter 
when the bee’S labor is done in wax. 
Would the gold in 
the buttercups be 
deeper or the bee 
more industrious if 
the man carried a 
$50 bamboo rod or 
was costumed in the 
latest type of wad- 
ers and other gar- 
ments? Would the summer breeze which 
floats in from the adjacent hills be more 
delectable to one than to another? 
A REDHEADED woodpecker is 
drumming monotonously on the 
tree as the man goes under it and 
he stops and is amused at the undulat- 
ing flight of the bird across a neigh- 
boring field. He falls to wondering why 
only birds of this family have that queer 
way with them in their flight. Nature 
is pulling at his heart strings and he 
doesn’t care whether his fishing pole 
costs $50 or not. 
As he sits down on the grass by the 
side of the pool he notices that, while 
the current causes dimples to come and 
go as in the days past on the surface, 
the stream does not seem so wide as 
when he was last there and he falls to 
wondering if the clearing up of the 
woodland above should have caused the 
change. 
He begins sorting out from a promis- 
cuous lot the hook which will best suit 
the work in hand. It is not even gut 
snelled, just a common hook with ring 
into which to tie the line, but it has 
given him good service in the past and 
fish have not changed their habits he 
mentally argues. 
Not even a painted top-float was in 
his kit — just a big bottle cork was all 
he brought and 
then he had not 
made a hole 
through it, but his 
way of earlier days 
was still with him. 
and sharpening a 
stick, he pushed it 
through the cork, 
first from one end 
and then from the 
other, until the 
spongy substance 
gave waj’ and at 
last an opening 
was made through 
which to pass his 
line. 
So absorbed was 
he with his work 
that he was fast 
forgetting why he 
was there. He was 
“just fishin’ ” and 
happy. 
The droning of 
the bees aloft 
Just fishin’ and happy 
