174 
FOREST AND STREAM 
The Amateur Trouter 
Some Fly Fishing and More Reminiscence 
Editor Forest and Stream: 
I have recently returned to .this noisy Babylon 
of the West after spending two enjoyable weeks 
on the peaceful banks of the Wallenpaupack, 
which separates Wayne and Pike counties in the 
Pocono Hills of Pennsylvania. The promise con¬ 
tained in the call that came from this stream, to 
come and test my angling ability with the wily 
lord of the brook, was no uncertain one. I had 
been there before, and I knew, so far as it con¬ 
cerned the beauty of the surroundings, and the 
sport of catching trout, there would be no dis¬ 
appointment. Being a mere novice, and exceed¬ 
ingly interested in fly fishing, but with limitations 
on time, I had previously thought of the possi¬ 
bility of locating some fisherable stream nearer 
than a hundred miles from New York. But such 
nearby good trout waters are by no means be¬ 
wildering in number nor conspicuous by their 
proximity. If there are, depend upon it, they 
are either “Posted” or hidden in the secret 
archives of the minds of the knowing ones, who, 
of course, won’t tell. One fisher innocently asked 
the sporting editor of an evening paper for just 
that kind of information, and the published an¬ 
swer he received to his open letter of inquiry was 
rosy in promise, but outrageously misleading as 
to facts'. This, doubtless, was unintentional, but 
the correspondent was advised to go to M-, 
New York, from which busy town he would 
find, within easy reach, no less than sixteen trout 
streams. The inference was that these brooks 
radiated from a center like spokes from the hub 
of a wheel. Surely here was a trout fisher’s 
paradise and I murmured softly to myself: 
“I in these flowery meads would be, 
These crystal streams should solace me, 
To whose harmonious babbling voice, 
I with my angle will rejoice.” 
So I seized the first chance to wend my ex¬ 
pectant way to this promised land. When I got 
there, every inhabitant I asked, to my surprise, 
seemed to be in gross ignorance of the geography 
of the immediate surroundings of his very birth¬ 
place. Not a single stream did they know of, 
except one, nine miles away. Notwithstanding 
this fizzle, the memory of past spring days was 
still bright, and the urgent appeal of the trout 
saying: 
“Don’t visit the commonplace Winnepesauke, 
Or the rivulet Onoquinapaskeasanognog, 
Nor climb to the summit of bare Moosllauke, 
And look eastward toward the clear Umbagog; 
But come into Maine to the Welokennebacock, 
Or to the saucy little river Essiqualsagook, 
Or still smaller stream of Chinquassabunticook, 
Then visit me last on the great Anasagunti- 
cook.” 
But as these waters were just as far from my 
reach as their names were unpronounceable, is 
it any wonder that I turned with confidence to 
the familiar banks of the Wallenpaupack, which 
prolific stream is no myth. I knew its deep pools 
and its white waters, and its appeal to come again 
was not disregarded. I knew also the delights 
which this joyous stream held for me, irrespec¬ 
tive of the sport of fishing. I would find its 
banks resplendent with mountain laurel and 
rhododendron, and the air fragrant with am¬ 
brosia, and pine and the wild strawberry. The 
joy of trout fishing in these mountains is not 
measured by the contents of one’s creel, but by 
the peacefulness that steals into your very soul 
as you catch the light and shadows at sunrise 
and sunset along this ever-singing Wallenpau¬ 
pack that winds in and out among the woodlands 
like a silken cord. The woods here, as well as 
the streams, are full of life. The sparrowhawk, 
the partridge and the quail have their haunts 
here, and the fox, the bear and the wildcat their 
lairs. Here, too, are other clear, deep, dark 
streams known best to the prowlers of these hills 
and to the birds and smaller wild life that make 
this their nesting and stamping ground. In the 
midst of it all, with my rod and reel, the worries 
of life rolled away, and I was free. Free in 
the heart of unbounded freedom, the joy of 
which, brief though it be, is worth “a king’s ran¬ 
som.” As already stated, I am an amateur, but 
proud to claim discipleship to those two delight¬ 
ful correspondents of Forest and Stream, Messrs. 
Robt. P. Lincoln and Theo. Gordon. I hope those 
two masters will not repudiate my claim. After 
three short seasons I was pleased with the fair 
success with which I placed the dry fly upon 
the water at a distance of about twenty feet 
from the tip of the rod without causing a ripple 
upon the surface of the stream. In this important 
feature of the game I found a big advantage in 
using a fine six-foot single leader with eyed fly 
neatly attached, thus eliminating the loops when 
gutted fly is used. A line, size F, carried the 
leader and fly to perfection. This, of course, is 
not new to experts, but it proved so successful 
in catching trout that I have become a dry fly 
purist. The satisfaction of seeing your fly reach 
the desired spot, its lighting on the water as a 
natural fly would, the suddenness with which 
it is seized, the silvery gleam of the raising trout, 
the surprise of both fish and fisher, and the thrill 
that accompanies the angry hash for liberty, more 
than compensates, in my experience, for all the 
misses the novice makes from lack of expert 
adroitness. 'Knowing the eternal rapacity as well 
as the capriciousness of his troutship, I had an 
assortment of flies which I felt sure would tempt, 
if they did not gratify, his superlatively discrimi¬ 
nating taste. The fastidiousness of this piscatory 
aristocrat is something to be reckoned with, and 
I was willing to cater to his gastronomic lust in 
the most approved fashion. It is true that, in 
early spring when flies are scarce, he has a de¬ 
praved taste for such plebian diet as worms, 
which, for artistic reasons, I disapprove of, but 
later on his epicurean appetite demands “Gold- 
ribbed Hare’s Ears,” “Wooded Duck,” and such 
like delicacies, served with a refinement of cast 
as will make these luring morsels irresistibly 
attractive and desirable. 
No childish ridicule, like the old adage, that 
“fishing is a fool on both ends of the line,” can 
be applied to angling for trout. You will find him 
there only after a knowledge gained from ob¬ 
servation, and a skill acquired by practice. It is 
a contest between the brains of the educated trout 
and the fisher’s, with the odds often in favor of 
the fish. It is not a question of luck, but a mat¬ 
ter of one’s capability. To outwit him was not 
beneath the studied attention of Lord Nelson, 
Humphrey Davy and Sir Walter Scott. Hap¬ 
pily, your failure to outwit him will bring no 
sting. If you succeed, then only can you appre¬ 
ciate to the full the lines of the English poet 
Thomson: 
“But should you lure 
From his dark haunt beneath the tangled roots 
Of pendant trees, the monarch of the brook, 
Behooves you then to ply your finest art. 
Long time he, following cautious, scans the fly, 
And oft attempts to seize it, but as oft 
The dimpled water speaks his jealous fear. 
At length, while haply o’er the shaded sun 
Passes a cloud, he, desperate, takes the death 
With sullen plunge; at once he darts along, 
Deep struck, and runs out all the lengthen’d line, 
Then seeks the farthest ooze, the shelt’ring weed, 
The cavern’s bank, his old secure abode, 
And flies aloft, and flounces round the pool 
Indignant of the guile. With yielding hand, 
That feels him still, yet to his furious cast 
Gives way, you now retiring, following now, 
Across the stream, exhaust his idle rage, 
Till, floating broad upon his breathless side, 
And to his fate abandon’d, to the shore 
You gaily drag your unresisting prize.” 
CHARLES D. DAVIS. 
THE FIRST GAME LAW. 
The first “game law” for the protection of 
wild animals and birds was enacted in 1068 by 
William the Conqueror. This decree of the Nor¬ 
man king was called a forest law, but its princi¬ 
pal purpose was the preservation of game. For¬ 
feiture of property was made the penalty for 
killing or disabling any kind of wild beast, while 
the slayer of a stag, buck or boar, if convicted, 
had his eyes put out. These laws, of course, ap¬ 
plied only to the masses, since the royalty and 
nobility were permitted to kill as much as they 
pleased. In fact, the principal purpose of the 
pioneer “game law” was to provide sport for the 
few. The first Parliamentary game law in Eng¬ 
land was passed in 1496. Game laws in America 
have become increasingly strict of late years, but 
they were adopted too late to save many species, 
notably the buffalo, from almost complete ex¬ 
tinction. 
THE NORTH WIND. 
By Earl H. Emmons. 
The north wind doth blow and we shall have snow 
And what will the hunters do then, do then? 
They’ll get on the trail of the gay cottontail 
And shoot him ker-plunk in the neck, by heck. 
