284 
FOREST AND 
STREAM 
The Aristocrats of the Sea 
Smell of the Brine and the Swish of the Waves Run Through this Story of Summer Delights 
ELIEVING that the popular 
opinion which fresh water an¬ 
glers hold against salt water 
angling is based largely upon 
a lamentable lack of acquaint¬ 
ance with the gamier of the 
denizens of the mighty deep, 
and knowing full well that 
the sea contains warriors worthy the attention 
of highest exemplars of sport with rod and reel 
the writer will attempt to present a brief for a 
branch of sea fishing now growing in favor 
along the eastern seaboard. 
It would be a waste of time to speak for the 
tarpon of the South or the tuna and sword¬ 
fish of the Catalina Islands. These aristocrats 
of the sea have won their well-deserved place 
in the affections of the unprejudiced and are 
seldom included in the thoughts of the fresh 
water devotee when he lets loose his slings and 
arrows at salt water fishing. 
But it is as unfair for him to look down upon 
salt water fishing because some members of the 
craft disembark from the Fishing Banks craft 
with tow bags full of ling and cunners as it 
would be for the salt water angler to sneer at 
fresh water fishing because the cane pole or 
slim hickory will “snake” a mess of catfish or 
crappie from some shady pool in a quiet stream. 
How long, my brother of the fly rod, would 
you be worthy to sit in the company of the elect 
at Rangeley Dam for instance, did your rod 
weigh more than half an ounce to the possible 
pound of fish, or did your leader stand a strain 
of more than five or six pounds .dead weight? 
Is it not then a fact that the proportions you 
maintain between tackle and quarry are the main 
basis of your claims to sportsmanship? You have 
found that the fly rod of fifty years ago was 
heavier than necessary. \ ou have reduced its 
calibre, length and weight, and, in truth, have 
found the lighter tackle the more pleasurable. 
You set a standard of light tackle as the sine 
qua non of sportsmanship—with certain other 
frills which we all observe. 
Now let us look at the tackle of the surf 
angler. His rod will weigh from 24 to 30 
ounces, and he battles with fish of 30, 40 and 
even 60 pounds in weight. So that the propor¬ 
tions of half an ounce to the pound are main¬ 
tained. His line, nine-thread, twelve or fifteen- 
thread,- is made to conform to the Catalina 
standard of two pounds breaking strain to the 
thread so that the heaviest of the three lines 
is of the same ratio to fish that your leader 
bears and it is the whole line—not simply a 
six-foot leader. So why are not these propor¬ 
tions the equals of yours? 
To be sure you take the admirable position 
that if the fish will not ta\<e the fly you do not 
want them. So the surf angler, standing by so 
often empty-handed, sees the striped bass troller 
By Switch Reel. 
land from his boat with three or four fish with¬ 
out budging from his stand that if the fish will 
not come to the beach they may go elsewhere. 
Why, then, is not the second stiff-necked code 
as admirable as the first? Is it because the 
stripers do not take the fly? Ah, my brother of 
the fly rod, would you quit fishing if the trout 
never took a fly? I think not. You’d descend 
to bait. 
Yes, there are aristocrats in the sea as wel) 
as there are common fishes in the streams and 
lakes. What can be more game than the striped 
bass? It is the common experience of surf an¬ 
glers after standing against the frantic rushes 
“Anglers Who are Content With One Fish” 
of a big striper, rushes reaching anywhere from 
two hundred to five hundred feet, and battling 
for half an hour on the heavy tackle that is 
justified, to bring through the breakers a dead 
fish—a fish that has fought until his heart has 
actually broken in his efforts to rid himself 
of the restraint of the line! You kill your trout 
before you drop him on his mossy bed in your 
creel. But the average striped bass of any size 
has died before the angler can beach him. Isn’t 
he game? 
Take the channel bass—that beautiful great 
copper and silver warrior who comes breasting 
the breakers from Florida to Barnegat each 
season, as another example of gameness. He is 
hardly so high strung as the striped bass, but 
he is game to the core. His fight is long and 
strong. He may move more slowly than his 
striped partner of the surf, but when he is 
beached there is never a flop left in him. Mr. 
Cawthorne spent one hour and fourteen min¬ 
utes by the watch in beaching his record 63- 
pounder, and it was a savage fight from the 
instant the lead leaped to life and started for 
the other side of the Atlantic. Oh, yes! there 
are aristocrats in the sea, and the standards of 
the sport and the tackle are well worthy the 
consideration of the highest sticklers for 
nicety. 
So often we hear you say our tackle is crude. 
It is heavy as compared with yours, but it is 
not crude. In comparison with the fish we 
take, however, it is as light as yours. The 
lightest tackle judged by such comparisons is 
not the two or three-ounce rod of the fly fisher, 
but that of the Aransas Pass tarpon angler who, 
with a 6-ounce tip and a 9-thread linen line, 
tries conclusions and wins against fish of from 
one to two hundred pounds. 
The fly is a feathered fraud. If your fish 
breaks off he has nothing to show for his ad¬ 
venture. If our fish escapes he often wins a 
juicy mouthful of bait. 
There are some great rod makers in the coun¬ 
try. Leonard, Vom Hofe, Divine, Orvis, Con¬ 
roy, John Seger—why tire you? 
The lines are linen of necessity. Silk has no 
place in sea water. 
How many days, my fly fisher friend, can 
you stand it without a rise? My own experi¬ 
ence on Hunter black bass has been that after 
a couple of hours’ steady casting without re¬ 
ward I have been ready to take a rest by using 
bait, and after three or four days without a 
fish, to pack off for some other locality. But 
come with me to the surf and I will show you 
anglers who are content and happy over one 
fish in a season. 
It’s a joy to swing a Leonard rod and waft 
a couple of flies forty feet or more and to see 
them stop a few inches above the water ere 
they safely flutter down to the surface. It’s a 
gentle joy. 
So, too, it’s a joy, and a wild joy, to grasp 
a surf rod by its 30-inch butt, with hands and 
feet well apart, starting the swing from the 
ankles, putting every ounce of power into it 
from legs, hips, waist, back, shoulders, arms 
and wrists as the rod goes overhead, and finish¬ 
ing with a filling of the tip which shoots the 
cast 40, 50, 60, 80 yards out into wild curling 
breakers where there is a chance for a fish that 
will bring one’s back muscles into play in the 
fight. And there is fierce pleasure which no fly 
fisher knows to dig one’s heels in the sand and 
lean back on a rod which will stand the strain 
while one of these fish makes a 200-yard dash. 
All must go well with the cast or disaster is 
