The times. [volume] (Washington [D.C.]) 1897-1901, 1900-05-27
FISHING FOR TROUT.
The Poetry of sport In Pools md
.-4DJr- Ripping Brooks.
{ @ From the Hartford courant,


The season has opened. And most Of
US propose to take our chances of weather
and of fish, and reach the banks of some
ripping brook in which the deeper pools
lock prospectively promising. He is an
unfortunate mortal who cannot get one day
in the spring to try his luck at the gentle
sport which old Izaak Walton loved so
we'll. The trout are not what, they used to
be either in size or numbers. at least so
the old men say; but the brooks are the
same streams that dashed down the slopes
of the pactures and the hillsides hundred
years ago when. our great grandfathers
were young. and have not lost their charm
to the new generations Fishing never
was sport that was much affected by sta
tistics anyway. There is no such thing as
convincing the man or the boy who has
prepared for days trip down some brook
that the stream contains only three fish
throughout its course. Ii it contains one,
it promises hundred. Nobody knows bow
fast fish. especially trout. multiply. and
the number may stretch out to the crack
of DOOM At least it will take days
work to lessen in any degree the zeal of
the true fisherman.
The days work ought to begin early. In
deed-if we may be pardoned the built
may begin the day before. The reels. the
reds. the hooks, the lines. and the bait all
have to be looked after. Tackle has way
of hiding when wanted and in any case
the fisherman will have made sure of his
equipment. For there is always before his
eyes the large number OF handsome trout
which he may capture. 1t is no definite
number Of course, Just before dawn, as
he is getting ready to start and sees the
first deep purple OF the morning coming
into the sky. he likes to dwell for a mo-
again as he comes into sight of the brook
after a vigorous tramp over country roads
and through rough pastures wet with dew
he stops an instant to take in the distant
musical murmur OF the flowing water. and
thinks of the numbers of speckled fellows
that lie waiting for his bait. 1t is one of
the glorious moments of life, it contains
such possibilities. There is no loneliness
in the day for him even though he be with
out any human companion.
The brook Is companion enough 1t
chatters constantly in no monotonous
fashion and allures its fascinated follower
through woods. through meadows, and
through rocky pastures as long as day
light lasts. And when the sun is sink
ing he finds himself hardly ready to turn
homeward. Though his basket is by no
means full of fish, he still hears the sound
of possibilities ahead CT him. He may
go home sure of one nights perfect sleep.
He has been living the day in a world Of
ideals. forgetful of the strains and the
worries of this life. forgetful Of himself.
And when a man forgets himself to the
extent of throwing into days fishing his
energy and his interest he is apt to re-
turn to the workaday world with better
resolution and happier thoughts. q 'Tis
luck enough to live"
Then come, my friend. forget your foes, and leave
your fears behind
And wander forth TO try your luck, with cheer.
full quiet mind;
For be your fortune great small. you'll take
what God may give,
And all the day your heart shall say, a. lis luck
enough TO live