FOREST AND STREAM. 
[Jan. 20, 1912. 
Fly-Fishing on the South Llano River 
By J. L. PHILLIPS 
T he rivers making the watershed of this 
portion of Texas, viz., Neches, Sabine, 
Brazos, Trinity and Colorado, are all 
what may be called muddy streams and not fit 
for my style of fishing, hence it is the same old 
story, “if you would get the best, it is just over 
yonder and the furthest away.” The South 
Llano River is a most beautiful stream in 
Southwest Texas. It is very swift, absolutely 
clear and is said to be fed by seven hundred 
springs. I do not know who made the count, 
but evidently every one thinks alike about it, 
as they all tell you the river is made by seven 
hundred springs. That portion, of Texas is 
still in the hands of the ranchmen. The man 
with the hoe is there, it is true, but he has not 
as yet tilled the soil enough to muddy the 
streams and deface the landscape with the ax 
and the saw. 
The valley of the Llano is not only beautiful, 
but rather picturesque, hemmed in as it is on 
each side by mountains of very good height and 
rather rugged. The soil of the valley is very 
fertile and particularly adapted to raising alfalfa. 
Most of the trees are pecan, many of them very 
large and they look as though they had been there 
for hundreds of years. Many pecans are gathered 
each year, but that country is yet a long way 
from market, it being about forty-five miles to 
the nearest railroad. The Llairo is a very fine 
fishing stream, an ideal stream for fly-fishing, 
and not so swift but that one can wade it. It 
is true you will find a few pools now and then 
too deep for your boots, but you don’t want to 
catch them all. Of course, it contains no trout, 
for that fish is not found in Texas, but you will 
find some of the liveliest members of the fish 
family you ever met; namely, large-mouth bass, 
warmouth, crappie, red-breast sunfish, long¬ 
eared sunfish and the common sunfish, every 
one of which is as quick to rise to a fly as any 
trout that ever swam in a Northern pool. Now 
laugh! If you do not believe me, just try it 
once and then tell me about it. 
Now. I did not say, nor would I have you 
think that I am trying to. make the sunfish the 
equal of the lordly trout. I merely said they 
will in that stream take a fly as readily as any 
trout that ever lived. Of course, we all know 
what a sunfish can do after he has taken your 
fly. The struggle does not last long, but the 
little chap is willing, pugnacious and will do 
the very best he can to interest you with the 
fight he puts up. 
The bass (large-mouth) are the finest and the 
most beautiful specimens of that family I have 
ever met, except in mountainous portions of 
Eastern Oklahoma, where you will find the 
same fish and his brother, the small-mouth, in 
the same waters. The bass in the Llano are 
rather long slim fish, not the elliptical, short¬ 
bodied. bellied down type of bass usually taken 
from weed-grown ponds, deep lakes, etc. (big- 
mouth bass taken from such places are usually 
sluggish and do not prolong the fight when 
hooked, hence a great many anglers claim the 
big-mouth not the equal of the small-mouth). 
The environment produces the type. I never 
saw it so greatly and clearly proven anywhere, 
as you will see as soon as you cast your fly on 
the waters of the South Llano. I never met 
gamer bass, I never had a small-mouth jump 
any higher, fight any longer or use more tac¬ 
tics credited to the bass family than these bass 
resort to when hooked, and they are every one 
fighters. My way of accounting for the shape 
of these fish, their fondness for the fly and their 
beautiful color is this: The swift water of that 
river keeps the fish on the go in order to make 
a living, its clear, cold water gives us the firm 
beautiful fish, and from what I saw, I am sure 
the bass look for their food in the shape of in¬ 
sect life on top of the water instead of feeding 
so much on minnows and crawfish; hence the 
reason they take a fly so readily. 
In my five days’ fishing I do not think I took 
on any day less than twenty-five fish, some days 
a little more. I did not catch any large fish 
on the trip, two pounds was the largest, the 
average about 1% pounds; I have no tale of 
woe to unfold about the “big one getting away,” 
nor did I cause the air to turn blue because I 
went in over my waders in some deep hole. 
The whole time was spent just like a good, 
gentle angler should spend it. The fish that I 
did not want for my friends’ table I placed 
back in the water. The best kind of sport 
could be had not far from the house. I fished 
botli up and down stream and can not say that 
I saw any particular difference in my catch. If 
fishing down stream roiled the water and scared 
the bass, I was unable to tell it. I did not have 
to fish from sunup until sundown in order to 
catch the number of fish that I did. I took it 
easy, enjoyed every moment of my time, rested 
when I wanted to, and when I placed my rod 
in its case preparatory to. starting home, I had 
the satisfaction of knowing I could have taken 
twice the number of fish if I had worked harder 
and whipped the pools and riffles more hours 
each day. My sport was clean and gentlemanly; 
I had all the sport I wanted and all my friends 
and their neighbors all the fish they could use 
for food. What more? 
Like many anglers who are lovers of nature, 
too, I must quote here and take off my hat 
as well to the memory of George Dawson, who 
left us this well worn aphorism, “It’s not all 
of fishing to catch fish.” I found every word of it 
true on this trip, for aside from the beautiful 
scenery along the river, I was treated to a 
beautiful sunset every evening I was there. 
One evening in particular I shall always re¬ 
member; it was my last evening. 
I had fished up stream, my sport was ex¬ 
ceptionally fine that afternoon and I was sorry 
it was coming to. a close. I sat down, as usual, 
to watch the sun go down behind the moun¬ 
tains. On this evening I was so situated as to 
look at the setting sun up the valley of the 
river, the coloring given to the landscape was 
grand and the sky seemed to blend perfectly 
with the coloring on the mountain tops and the 
shadows in the valley. On each side of the river 
was a large flock of sheep being driven home 
by Mexican herdsmen. They were too far away 
for me to hear the noise made by many hoofs, 
but I could hear the low, deep call of the 
mothers and the bay-like answer of the lambs 
and every now and then I could catch bits of 
song, as the herdsmen were singing “La Pa- 
loma” in their characteristic low-noted way. It 
was a scene calculated to enchant you; one that 
would test the bounds of your imagination. 
Speaking of sunsets, after what I have seen 
in the western portion of this State, I cannot 
help but marvel at the idea of American people 
going to Italy to see the sun set in all its glory 
when they can see it better and on a grander 
scale here in Texas. 
I found the brown and gray hackle to be the 
most useful flies. The bass did not hesitate a 
moment to rise to either. The smaller sunfish 
would take anything and were so eager they 
were a nuisance when you wanted nothing but 
bass. I never saw anything like it, the eager¬ 
ness of those sunfish to get the fly. They would 
come from the opposite side of the river or as 
far as they could see the fly, and if I did not 
want them, I simply had to go to another place. 
The portion of the South Llano, where I did 
my fishing, is in Kimble county, about five 
miles up stream from the little town of Junc¬ 
tion, which takes its name from its situation. 
It is located beautifully at the junction of the 
North Llano and the South Llano rivers. 
As I said in the beginning, you always have 
to go furthest for the best, I will give readers 
the route I took and the distance, in case any 
of them are ever down this way and want to 
try their luck in the same waters: From Luf¬ 
kin to Houston, 118 miles; from Houston to 
San Antonio, 206 miles, from San Antonio to 
Kerrville, 75 miles, and thence from Kerrville 
by stage 60 miles to the little town of Junc¬ 
tion; in all about 456 miles. Quite a little 
jaunt for one to take, but then you must know 
Texas is a pretty good-sized State, and in order 
to get anywhere you have to travel. The people 
down here are used to it and do not mind it. 
I left here about the 7th of October last and 
my fishing days were between the loth and i6th. 
THE TOP RAIL. 
If you were showing a shooting friend your 
favorite gun and he were to say it was not 
nicely lined, how would you take it? And yet 
an Irishman’s definition of the term, which evi¬ 
dently originated in Birmingham or some other 
British gunmaking center, is totally different 
from what the man in the street would suppose. 
This is, good material, nice fitting of parts, well 
finished, and smooth working. You or I would 
say offhand, probably, that if the phrase did not 
correctly apply to the bore, it could only refer 
to what we call, more or less correctly, the bal¬ 
ance, the “hang” or, as sometimes used, if in¬ 
correctly, the “heft” of a gun. In the latter 
case weight applies only in a comparative sense. 
When a man says, “Let me heft your gun,” he 
has in mind what the Irishman refers to as 
nicely lined. English is, as the Germans say, a 
fearful and wonderful language, and we do not 
have to go to Mexico to hear phrases which con¬ 
vey an entirely different meaning from that 
which they convey to the raw student. 
Grizzly King. 
