Part VII. 
' 
Without Attempting to Cast Too , 
Far Out Into the Deeper Psycho¬ 
logical Waters of Trout Fishing, 
Sonnyboy Has the Time of His 
Young Life, and Makes His First 
Catch. We Learn More of the 
Human Side of Trees and Thrill 
Under the Livid Spell of a Dra¬ 
matic Forest Fire. Chip /4s an 
Angler. 
Bv W. LIVINGSTON LARNED 
O UR mountain friend, Chip, en¬ 
tertained beliefs and keen- 
edged opinions in the matter 
of trout fishing, which were so inti¬ 
mately related to my personal views 
that they might have been poured from 
the same stew-pan. He was what you 
might call a “Commoner.” He de¬ 
tested such overwhelming fluency of 
Why’s and Wherefore’s, Rules and 
Super-Technique, as clouded the rock- 
bottom reason for going out for a 
“Brown” or a “Rainbow.” He fished 
for the love of it, not because he wanted 
at some time to compose an encyclo¬ 
paedia on the subject. 
Friends of mine build a shrine of 
technique for the sport, and kow-tow 
to it, endlessly and needlessly. They 
can’t really enjoy trout fishing because 
their minds are so cluttered with in¬ 
finite detail. With one the dry fly is 
a religion; with another, a dry fly 
fisherman is a dunderhead, an idiot, 
a hopeless, blundering dolt, fit for the 
The venerable pine opposite our farm home. 
Ants had almost eaten its heart out, but 
tree surgery and the brave work of 
the Forestry Camp students saved ■ ^ 
its life. 
A chumship existed between Sonnyboy and his 
Grandfather, at once beautiful and sympa¬ 
thetic, and together they trod uncountable 
golden miles of forest. We shall shortly learn 
more of this precious pair while Sonnyboy has 
his first introduction to School Camp Life. 
madhouse. It’s wet fly or nothing with 
this gentleman. 
There is no more intolerant person 
on the face of the earth than the trout 
fisherman who allows ritual to take 
the place of sportsmanship. He’s 
missing so much fun! I once talked 
with a veteran billiardist who stood 
well to the front in all contests. He 
admitted that since it had become such 
an exact science with him, he enjoyed 
it far less. An occasional error put 
zest in the game. 
There was a time in my fishing 
career when I resolved to work it out 
% 
..sm 
as I would a trial-balance or a problem 
in algebra. But I soon discovered that 
trout angling had developed marvelous 
—and quite selfish—little segregated 
cults, clacques and clans, bitter unto 
death. The other fellow was always 
wrong! Literature came no nearer 
solving my problem. Writers failed 
to agree. 
Chip’s philosophy was child-like and 
soothing: 
“If you folks is fancy trout fisher¬ 
men there ain’t no use uv my talkin’ 
with ye. I jes’ fish be-cause I like it. 
I don’t fish ter PROVE anythin’ ner 
ter start an’ argyment. What’s th’ use 
uv sayin’ that th’ dry fly was born in 
heaven, an’ th’ wet fly is good fer 
nothin’ but cats, when no two streams 
is th’ same, an’ one fly is good one 
time, whilst anuther is good AN- 
UTHER time? I’ve heard men up 
here argue on th’ subject until they 
parted enemies, an’ filled th’ creek with 
foam. 
“Now you take streams up here . . . 
an’ that goes fer most places . . . 
there’s so many rocks and trees and 
bushes and narrer spots, that dry-fly 
fishin’ is as easy as keepin’ bees away 
frum their own hive. Here an’ there, 
you’ll locate a tollable open pool, with 
nice quiet water, where a dry fly can 
be floated an’ KEPT dry, but as 
fer goin’ off inter a trance 
an’ carryin’ along books 
uv scien-tific instruc¬ 
tions every time 
Page 486 
