The Hood River glacier. (Hood River, Or.) 1889-1933, 1912-04-18
Fins. FurS. and Feathers.

The hopes and dreams of am amateur
angler, before he seeks the stream,
are more optimistic thnU those of a
favorite candidate or election dav
The obsession of human beings to 20
fishing must be caused by "a fever and
it usually comes in the springtime
The victim of the malady quietly ap.
proaches and listens to the converse
tion of old timers, men with records
for the number of catch and size. He
drinks in the information that drops
from proud boasts and inwardlv makes
resolutions TO go all of them one
better
The fever brings dreams and at
night the covers are tossed and the
pillow is mussed as he lands giant
steelheasd and pulls raInbows and
mountain trout from pools that only
fertile Imagination can build. He
roams through the fisherman's Arcadia
and is happier than "nigger" catch
ing mud cats with a plowliue.
The next process in the evolution of
making modern day Isaac Walton is
the purchase of an outfit. The dealer
asks him what he thinks of the "Royal
Coachman" fly. And without know
ing whether he is acquiring a butter
fly or "snake doctor" he orders a
dozen. Other accoutrement, that ooks
good and appeals to his aesthetic
senses, is purchased in like quantities
With stride more pompous than
that of young spring cockerel or the
king tom turkey of the baruyard, he
stalks the stream, yes, truly stalks it,
to take the mnnows unawares. The
first problem of angling that of as
sembing the paraphernaia. confronted
him when he got out his reel, the
joints of the rod and the line, and be-
gan the attempt of trying to get them
together.
TO heighten his perturbation, while
lie is disentaugling the line his pet
dog, having thought he was ready for
a romp, had seized part of it and so
hopelessly knOtted il that portions of
it had to be ren owed by pocket knife
surgical operation youth with an
alder pole, cotton line, nail for "a sinker |
and rusty hook began calmly fishing
at the point he had chosen for his in !
tial c st. Poor Fido got his from the |
point of boot and an angrily hurled |
pebble and fled with tail between legs.
10 distance of about "A hundred yards |
20 look back pitingy upon his master,
Vonderingswhat had befallen him.
To have seen Sir Nimrod begin fish |
ng, after he had put salmon egg or
.wo on the hook with the fly, would |
lave been more interesting than wit |
lessing hayseed at five course din
Ter. He watched the boy, who had |
already caught three fish from the
nearest pool and who had moved off |
Iown the stream, and tried to use his |
cd and line in the same manner. But |
was wrong, the wind was in
he wrong direction or the kid had dis |
urbed the stream.
His heart almost loosened a rib, when |
fve-inch unsophisticated trout nib
lied at the salmon egg and he tossed
lin on the gravel bar. "This is the |
BEGINNING, he whispered, loudly to
himself, as he rebated the hook and
ooked gloatingly at the,fopping little
ish.
He returned to the stream, imagin-
ng the trout's big brother awaiting
i'm. But the fondest dreams of men,
s we'll as plans and schemes, "gang
1T agley. " Never another nibble |
topped the falling barometer of his
pirits. He stepped on a teeterinp
tone and fell sprawling in the river.
When he arose and wrung the cold
9ater from the seat of his trousers and
is coat-tails, he ceased to think of
sh and wondered how he cou d get
ome without being seen by his
riends. He looked at his wet legs
nd lifting the lid of the fish basket
oted the tOrlornness Of the trout.
lie felt silly. 81 can't take this little
sh home, . he thought, and he threw
i'm in the edge of the river. But the
rout was dead and it f1oated awav
nth its white belly glistening in the
'ater. The erstwhile blooming bud
I optimism felt ashamed of himself
lie thought he would sell the fishing
ackle. Such are the Disappointment
t amateur anglers