SONNYBOY ENJOYED THE 
WILD FREEDOM OF THE OLD 
FARM. AND THE BIG RAM¬ 
SHACKLE BARN PARTICU¬ 
LARLY LURED HIM. HE IS 
BARRELLED AND READY 
FOR MARKET 
I S there anything more mysterious 
than coincidence? Just a week 
before, I had been talking with 
Sonnyboy on the subject of trout fish¬ 
ing. Out came my precious tin of lures, 
to dazzle the dancing eye of him: a 
shimmering, glimmering jewel-box of 
color, its contents an odd mosaic of red, 
yellow, elusive greens, pastel shades, 
born of things that flit and flutter! 
Up to this hour, he had never been 
privileged to handle them. To a trout 
fisherman, his flies are forbidden 
ground. His own fingers touch them 
with reverence and respect. Here is a 
Spider Lure, bedraggled from long 
companionship, its cunning form a 
shadow of the olden days, but 
fondled as a miser might gloat 
over doubloons: and here is my be¬ 
loved Silver Doctor, the pretty 
bauble of a world, around which 
gay constellations of adventure 
have swirled! 
That evening, I had lighted my 
pipe and unlocked the cabinet 
where the trout tackle was en¬ 
shrined, when the thought oc¬ 
curred: trout fishermen, of the old 
school, complain bitterly, because, 
season after season, a pernicious 
niisconception grips eighty per cent 
of those who blunder along our de¬ 
pleted streams and mountain lakes. 
Who is to blame? 
The fathers of the trout fisher¬ 
men of tomorrow. If Fathers 
would only take the trouble to 
inculcate correct 
methods and high 
ideals in the youth 
of the land, what 
a difference it would 
make! Of all out¬ 
door sport, I some¬ 
times think there is more of the spir¬ 
itual in trout fishing. The quarry 
is so fine, fair, heroic, game, beauti¬ 
ful. The trout is a champion in his 
class. He takes keen chances himself 
and lives in an atmosphere of tumultu¬ 
ous, frothy adventure. He is blessed 
of the Gods. A rainbow trout is im¬ 
mortal. 
But the majority of those who make 
a scientific as well as a religious study 
of fly-fishing, are just a little selfish. 
Say “trout” to them, in season, and 
their souls shrivel. They become her¬ 
mits. Either entirely alone or in com¬ 
pany with a same-age chum, patterned 
exactly after them, they secretly steal 
away to their favorite deep pools. 
I had always been that sort of a 
FISHING HUNTING THE LTFE OUTDOORS, PUTS SOMETHING DIFFERENT IN A 
BOY S FACE—SOMETHING BORN OF THE PEACE AND BEAUTY OF THOSE FAIR 
PEACES WHERE MAN DROPS HIS LINE. OR THE CHALLENGE OF TEMPERA > 
FIREARMS ECHOES THROUGH MOUNTAIN PATHS. 
trout fisherman where my boy was con- 
cerned. “As soon take a circus ele¬ 
phant along,” had been my observation. 
“Take Sonny with you next time,” 
Mother had suggested. 
Fireworks! A vocabulary of violent 
expletives. As if a growing boy could 
or should be taken trout fishing! 
Would one lead a donkey to sabbath 
meeting? Trout streams were sanc¬ 
tuaries. 
“But you complain of the poor 
sportsmen who abuse their privileges,” 
Mother would plead, “you insist there 
is only one true, honest-to-goodness 
trout fisherman in a thousand. Has it 
ever occurred to you that if Father’s, 
who are good fishermen, brought their 
sons up to a proper appreciation of 
what is right and wrong, we might 
have better sportsmen in another 
generation?” 
What an entirely simply and obvious 
truth it was! 
And so, for one entire evening, I told 
Sonnyboy of the marvels of trout fish¬ 
ing, and echoed the adventures of many 
a singing reel. It was promised that 
some day soon, he might accompany 
me on a little expedition. 
Our Florida jaunts were just a taste. 
What man in his right mind could com¬ 
pare barracuda, tarpon, mangrove 
snappers, whiting, sheepshead—with 
TROUT! 
Enter . . . Coincidence! 
Three days later, I returned from 
my office with a splitting, throbbing 
headache. 
Friend F a m i 1 y 
Doctor looked me 
over. 
“Remnants of that 
Flu’ attack of a 
year ago,” he said, 
“strange reactions. 
The disease often 
baffles us. Nothing 
that comes in a 
Pape 360 
Sonnyboy and Dud Tuke u Hike Buck to Nuture, Leud 
the Simple Life on un Old Furm y High in the Penn- 
;ylvuniu Hills, und Go Fly-fishing Where the Foot fulls of Mon ore Rure 
Indeed. Some Incidentul Lessons in Forest Preservution, Good for Young 
Minds to Absorb. 
Bv W. LIVINGSTON LARNED 
