On Aug 11, 6:20*pm, Steve Cain wrote:


"That's right." Henry went fishing with Daddy.

May be of interest,

EVERY angler must have some account to give of the beginning of his
keenness for angling. Some of us remember it as the great excitement
of our boyhood, whilst others have only discovered its existence in
later years of life. I think, however, that the keenest anglers are
born and not made ; that the passion is latent in them from the
beginning, and is revealed sooner or later according to opportunity.
In some cases it may be that the passion perishes unsuspected and
unrevealed, because there is no opportunity of indulging or
discovering it, till too late in life. The longer we live the deeper
becomes the groove or the rut in which our life moves, and the more
difficult it becomes to go outside it.

To me the opportunity for fishing came early, and the passion for it
awoke suddenly. I remember very well being seized with the desire to
fish. I was about seven years old, and was riding on a Shetland pony
by the side of a very small burn. A mill was working higher up the
stream, and the water was full of life and agitation, caused by the
opening of the sluice of the mill pond above. I had seen small trout
caught in the burn before, but now, for the first time and suddenly,
came an overpowering desire to fish, which gave no rest till some very
primitive tackle was given me. With this and some worms, many
afternoons were spent in vain. The impulse to see the trout destroyed
all chance of success. It did not suit me to believe that it was fatal
to look into the water before dropping a worm over the bank, or that I
could not see the trout first and catch them afterwards, and I
preferred to learn by experience and disappointment rather than by the
short, but unconvincing, method of believing what I was told.

For some years this burn fishing was all that I knew. It was very
fascinating, though the trout were so small that one of four ounces
was considered a good one, whilst the very largest ran to six ounces.
These larger trout taught me a second lesson self-restraint.

The first lesson was, as has been said, to learn to refrain from
looking into the water before I fished it : all the trout of every
size combined to teach this. The second difficulty was to restrain the
excitement when I had a bite. The natural impulse then was to strike
so hard as to hurl the fish into the air overhead : this answered very
well with trout of two or three ounces, though once a small one came
unfastened in the air, flew off at a tangent into the hay behind, and
could not be found. But with six ounce trout this violent method did
not answer so well ; neither the angler, nor the rod, nor the tackle,
was always strong enough to deal with them so summarily.

Catastrophes occurred, and by slow degrees and painful losses I learnt
the necessity of getting keenness under control. After I had improved
in these matters there still remained the hardest trial of all, which
has to be undergone by all anglers, namely, how to face the
disappointment of losing a fish. Many of us must have known what it is
in boyhood to suffer anguish after losing an unexpectedly large fish.
The whole of life then seems laid waste by despair ; the memory of
past joys counts for nothing ; one is sure that no future success can
ever compensate for the present loss ; and one rails against the
established order of everything, and is indignant that any human being
should ever have been born to undergo such intolerable misery. Even in
later years we cannot hope to face the loss of very large fish with
equanimity. Nobody can become perfect in bearing what is unbearable,
and it may be counted to our credit if in these very bitter moments
silence descends upon us, and we preserve outward appearances.

Sir Edward Grey "Fly Fishing"


Mike Connor

http://www.mike1.bplaced.net/Wikka/HomePage