Barbour County index. [volume] (Medicine Lodge, Kan.) 1880-current, 1882-05-18
The Man and the Fish.

Burlington HaWkeye
About this time of the year, when
you cannot find the American citizen
In his office, look for him at the butt
end of fishing pole, if he is a denizen
of the mighty west, or at the reel of a
trout rod if so be that he liveth in the
barbaric orient; for there are no fishing
poles east of Ohio.
Man, born of woman, is of few days,
and prone to fish as the sparks to fly
upward. Whether in the long-legged
boots he wadeth along the rocky and
tOrtuouS course of the broken trout
stream, or placidly perched on a gum
log, he patiently bobs for "cat,' in the
sluggish and yellow creek IF the low
countries, he must fish. And in either
case the result is about the same !;
more lies than fish.
Patient is the man who fishes, long
suffering, addicted to malaria, lonely in
his habits; he smelleth of the swamps !;
the oder of the alders clings TO his
raiment and the truth is not in him.
The patience of his life is its great
charm. The sun that beats upon his
unmurmuring head at noontide moves
him not; the long afternoon only makes
him sleepy; the threatening bank of
clouds In the distant west has no ter
rors for him; the breath of the passing
cyclone could not move him if it should
happen to strike him just as he felt a
bite. He is patient beyond all appre-
citation. From early morn till dewy eve
he fishes for something that he cannot
see, and if ever he gives way to the
slightest expression of Impotence it is
when the shadows of night fall upon
him and compel him to return home
and leave the brook or pond or creek
lust when they begin to bite"
He knows the habits and the haunts
of fish. He is connoisseur in nibbles
and judge of bites. He knows there
are rock bass close under the dam and
sun6sh among the tangled roots of the
fallen cottonwood that lies, bleached
and naked, like dead giant, looking as
though it had swan ashore and then
died before it could pull it's roots out of
the water. In the quiet pools under
the high bank there are big suckers,
and in the middle Of the creek he can
fish on the bottom for bull pout. And
there are ''punkin' seeds" and ''goggle
eyes" in the dark holes just below the
shadows, and there is tradition about
"cIoppy," five inches long, that was
caught down near the stone QUAR-,
for the fish of the western waters are
not measured by weight, as the liars OF
the Middle and New England states
exaggerate their tiny trout, but by
inches and feet, even as the sea serpent
of the Jersey coast.
Moreover, the man who fishes knows
how to allure the willy inhabitants of
the deep. He spitteth upon his bait
and refraineth from accustomed pro-
family. He knoweth that the s'snake-
feeders" circle in many colored lines
above the place where abide the most
fish. He knoweth that you can not
drown 'tskeeter" or water spider, and
that it is in vain that any man trieth
to splash water on the gregarious
"stink-bug" When the worms are all
used up, or by some heartbreaking
mischance spilled int the creek, he
baiteth with the mussel which passeth
under the alias of clam, or he ensnar-
eth, with many outspread fingers, much
grass and few grasshOppers; or the
after legs of the active frog supply
him with the needful bait
But he never catches any fish, not
any to speak of. He has nibbles
unnumbered, but not untold; he has
big bites that thrill the blood of the
man to whom he describes them; he
pulls two or three splendid fellows
"clear out of the water" he sees a
dozen or more jump up in the middle
of the creek, he could have caught two
dozen if he could have got over to the
other side Of the creek, and fifty if he
had had boat. But for the wind
being in the south, he would have eaten
fish for the ensuing week, the sun was
too hot, or the day was too dark, or
something or other. With a score of
possibilities, and with numberless mar.
row escapes, he catches no fish.
But, somehow, while he comes home
fishless, he smells like a 6sh-market.
He has fallen into tge creek twice or
thrice. and has caught frogs or carried
clans, and comes home wet to the
neck, with WEAKNESS in his frame,
aches in his joints, smell of fish all
about him, and not a fish near him.
And thus year after year he fishes, and
considers that he has had a holiday.
He enjoys it, and it requires only a
very few fish to satisfy his wild ambi-
tions. If he can't fish he can lie, and
the most successful fisher can tell no
larger stories than the greatest failure.
r. J. B.
Tho