Forest and Stream 
Terms, $3 a Year, 10 Cts. a Copy, i 
Six Months. $1.50. 
NEW YORK, SATURDAY, JUNE 3, 1911. 
j 
VOL. LXXVI.—No. 22. 
1 No. 127 Franklin St., New York. 
Rod or Gun—Which? 
By WALTER McGUCKIN 
“How happy could I be with either. 
Were t’other dear charmer away.” 
C AN desire and philosophy go hand in hand? 
Does not desire lead, with, philosophy so 
far in the background as to be sometimes 
actually out of sight, arriving only at the front 
when desire, after great accomplishment, has sat 
down in order to smoke a pipe, or perchance 
awaits philosophy’s coming up the better to en¬ 
joy that spirit of refreshment which philosophy 
—always wise—never fails to carry in a flask? 
How then can the sportsman decide between the 
rod and gun as to which is the greater joy, when 
both of them are the glorious weapons with 
which he fights his way into that country where 
life is worth living? 
The golfer’s existence is confined within those 
eighteen gaping but elusive holes; he asks no 
aid, he knows no friend, his heaven is the win¬ 
ning score. The expert at tennis finds his de¬ 
light in an equally narrow field, though it is true 
he is sometimes exhilarated by the applause of 
the onlookers, such cheer being rarely vouch¬ 
safed to the golfer. In all athletic games after 
the participant has reached the acme of his skill 
he is forced to look backward instead of for¬ 
ward, for he then learns that his day has gone 
by, and his interest in sport must unconsciously 
become less day by day. This narrowness of 
existence characterizes all sports which depend 
chiefly upon the athletic. But the follower of 
the rod and gun knows no bounds to the possi¬ 
bilities of his pastime and in consequence his 
devotion never tires. As his knowledge increases 
so does his field of action enlarge, and this 
greater scope but too clearly demonstrates the 
need of additional knowledge, to gain which he 
at once applies himself with redoubled energy. 
At the outset all his energy is concentrated on 
the pursuit and capture of his quarry, gen¬ 
erally by fair means, though sometimes by means 
not quite so fair, but perhaps more successful. 
Many, of the contrivances which he now uses 
will later on be discarded as unworthy. His 
ardor allows no excuse—he must and will have 
results, the larger the better. 
At this stage it is solely and purely the diver¬ 
sion which field and stream offer; his enthusiasm 
is at fever heat, and anything which tends to 
make success greater and more striking is seized 
with avidity. The element of luck is now a mat¬ 
ter for prayer. If his success also carries with 
it the envy of his brother sportsmen, his ardor 
takes on new life; it is up and stirring at every 
opportunity. But sooner or later successful cap¬ 
ture made merely a view to display superiority 
in results, begins to pall. From the heights of 
his success he begins to look down with dis¬ 
dain upon capture made in the ordinary way 
and with the usual tools. He looks for new 
fields of conquest; capture which is easy has lost 
its charm. 
His attention is now turned to capture which 
entails such difficulty as to be out of reach of 
OVERCOMING DIFFICULTIES APPEALS TO THE ANGLER. 
Photograph by J. T. C. 
the ordinary sportsman. It is the overcoming 
of difficulty in the sport by methods which re¬ 
quire time and study and which are not easily 
learned which now appeals to him. In order to 
accomplish this he devotes more attention to his 
outfit, he seeks for information, he studies and 
brings reason into play; philosophy has at last 
caught up with desire. In the land of gladness, 
through which he is now walking, results are of 
comparatively little importance; it is the man¬ 
ner in which results are accomplished which 
claims his attention. He schools himself in that 
patience which is so great an adjunct to the 
long and successful effort. And to his great joy 
he finds that this very increase in knowledge— 
this greater skill in the manner of capture—this 
willingness to hope and wait are forces which 
it is the greatest pleasure to control, forces 
which may be relied upon to produce the most 
satisfactory results whenever called upon. He 
has at last walked out of the province of mere 
sport into the generous land of pastime, that 
glorious country of unknown bounds where he 
may roam at will, now and then intent on sport 
perhaps, but ever with a light heart and aiways 
with a consciousness of the beauties of the play¬ 
ground which nature has provided. “The true 
sportsman must ever be a lover of the charms 
of rural scenery, and for this among other things 
I love and honor sportsmanship. * * * The 
very nature of his pursuits must needs awaken 
contemplation and induce thought.” 
It was well into the night and quiet. Each 
fitful flash of the dying camp-fire hurled itself 
against the darkness only to be absorbed and 
disappear within its depths. An occasional sp'ash 
heard faintly through the stillness of the night 
told of soft October breezes out on the lake. 
1 ossed into one corner of the camp were a rod 
and gun, thrown together not with that parallel¬ 
ism which means friendship, but lying in a rec¬ 
tangular position which is the sign of cross 
purposes. The faint hum of controversy was 
just beginning to exude from their corner when 
an owl, out on his nightly foray, but also not 
averse to adding to his store of wisdom, silentiy 
took his seat on the outstretched branch of a 
hemlock, and directly over the turbulent corner, 
where it was his great good fortune to listen 
to the following: 
Rod: “Here, you great, big heavy bunch of 
steel, get off my back! Can’t you see you are 
breaking my tip? 
Gun: “Well, if I were as delicate as that I 
wouldn t follow a sporting life. I’d stay indoors 
and play bridge.” 
Rod: “It is an essential part of my existence 
that I should be frail and light in weight, for my 
accomplishments are all the result of dexterity 
rather than of force, and for this very reason 
I am a friend of the young as well as the com¬ 
panion of maturity. I am the small boy’s first 
guide into the land of bliss, long years before 
he has even dared to so much as approach you. 
He and I are boon companions all through the 
pleasant summer days, when school is forgotten 
and only joy remains. Every morning out we 
go hand in hand down to the water’s edge, there 
to remain for happy hours; and even if we are 
late for dinner, the fish we bring back with us 
take away the sting of the scolding. He learns 
to love me then, and I am his steadfast friend 
through life.” 
Gun: “All very true, but when he is nearing 
