Alpena weekly argus. [volume] (Alpena, Mich.) 1871-1893, 1888-06-13
Old Fashioned Fishing.


figures on just how many minutes he
can spare, and every nibble is reckon.
ed at so much money. He is always
out of pocket, and comes home mad,
not to try it again for whole year.
With boy it is adventure and ro-
nance. He has nothing to lose and
everything to gain. He has all the
time there is, and if he doesn't catch
all the fish in Roaring River it is not
his fault.
| can remember all about it. In
those way back days real fish-hook
was personal property, something to
carry to school tied up in rag and
exhibited only to the large boys
boys large enough to appreciate it.
At home it was hidden away under
the bureau, and its presence was kept
a sacred secret. Most any sort of a
string would do for fish line, and
the old hunter who once gave me two
bullets for sinkers is remembered with
deepest gratitude to this day. When
hook and line and sinkers were wound
upon a maple chip and tucked away
to wait for the fishing season, it was a
red-letter day. ! would have taken
a dozen of the worst lickings a boy
could receive rather than give up the
treasure, and, had stranger come
along and offered to trade me a horse
for the outfit, should have promptly
refused the offer.
When we went to fish in a creek
which was as much as two feet deep
in spots, and which boy could hard
ly jump across in places, it was a
mighty river to me, besides which the
discoveries of .Hendrick Hudson and
De Soto were mere bantam chickens.
There were whales in there, and our
only fear was that one of them would
nab our angleworm and break the
hook. There were sharks which might
seize us if we waded over rifle ank-
lie deep, and we had heard of the dew
il-fsh which turks under the flood
wood waiting for barefooted boy to
come along with his dinner. True,
we never encountered any of these
monsters of the deep, and that was
the reason why we got safely back
home, and why mother heaved great
sigh of satisfaction and said;
$50 you are home Well, never,
never expected to see you again.
A boys way of fishing is the best
way ever invented. They bring out
their fancy rods, reels, flies and pat
ent hooks, but the boy who sticks to
the homemade fish pole, the old fash.
ioued hook and the twine fish line
rubbed down with beeswax isn't go.
ing to be left very far behind.
The first we used to pull out-yum!
Nowadays those you don't catch are
the largest A quarter of a century
ago things were different OF course,
we had some big bites-awful bites
regular old monsters, but we didn't
lie about the size of the biters. We
never put one down at over hun
dred pounds, though we could have
doubled the weight and found ready
believers. In those days nobody ever
fshed without splitting on his bait.
If he wanted to catch all awful big
fish he spit twice. There were times
when splitting OIL the bait didn't bring
bite, but no boy ever got discourage
ed over that. He hadn't given just
the right pucker to his mouth, or his
hook didn't hand right, or the sky
was too bright or too cloudy.
In these degenerate days man will
sit on wharf or log and jaw, and
Bob some more aud growl, and haul
up his line and blast everybody's eyes
because he hasn't caught pickerel
eighty five feet long The old fash
ioned boy would tramp three miles up
and down stream, and never utter
word of complaint over the absent
nibbles. If he got dozen horned
dace, rs long as mans finger, it was
a triumph to last for three months.
just think Of patent bobber--a self
acting one, at that-and compare it
with the cork we used to steal from
the mollasses jug! And what are
these patent sinkers compared to
couple of eight-penny nails-or an old
door key which sunk our hooks
They are doing their best to reduce it
to a business, and to. destroy all the
romance and anticipation, and | for
one don't like it bit. In the way
back time fishing excursion was set
down for month ahead. and it de-
pended on how well VIC got along with
the potatoes and corn. We got our
outfit ready fortnight ahead of
time. We hunted out the best spots
for fish-worms, planned every detail
over and over again, and dreamed of
creeks and fish and 6sh-hooks right
along every night. The days seemed
never ending, but when we could say
"ro-morrow !" we dug bait enough TO