The Contemplative Angler

FISHING
WITH A WORM

BY

BLISS PERRY

BOSTON AND NEW YORK

HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY

MDCCCCXVI

"The last fish I caught was with a worm."—IZAAK WALTON.

A defective logic is the born fisherman's portion. He is a pattern of inconsistency. He does the things which he ought not to do, and he leaves undone the things which other people think he ought to do. He observes the wind when he should be sowing, and he regards the clouds, with temptation tugging familiarly at his heartstrings, when he might be grasping the useful sickle. It is a wonder that there is so much health in him. A sorrowing political economist remarked to me in early boyhood, as a jolly red-bearded neighbor, followed by an abnormally fat dog, sauntered past us for his nooning: "That man is the best carpenter in town, but he will leave the most important job whenever he wants to go fishing." I stared at the sinful carpenter, who swung along leisurely in the May sunshine, keeping just ahead of his dog. To leave one's job in order to go fishing! How illogical!

Dear All,
Thank you for all the kind words and prayers. I broke out of the hospital late Saturday; now I can actually get some sleep.
The new pacemaker seems to be working. It is truly a peerless pacemaker (that is for your benefit, Tom Chandler) but the wireless connectivity aspect is a tad weak. I don't know what band I am broadcasting on, but so far all I have been able to receive is weather reports in Estonian and old "Roadrunner" soundtracks (I hope that is the source of the "Beep-beep" and explosions). It could be worse, I've heard rumors of a fellow pulling in a 24-hour "all Yanni" station. Poor sot. After eighteen hours the court ordered his pacemaker removed -- quality of life considerations.
So, all is well. Again, thank you. As I am still a bit tired I wish to provide Bliss Perry's superb work on fly fishing - "Fishing with Worms" - for your delectation.

I Am the Very Model of a Modern Fly Fishing Guide
(with apologies to Sirs Gilbert and Sullivan)

I am the very model of a modern fly-fishing guide,
I've information on each sandbar, trouty run, and fishy glide,
I am conversant in all matters ichthyological,
From whitefish to salar - in order categorical.

Fishing if I, a fisher, may protest,
Of pleasures is the sweetest, of sports the best,
Of exercises the most excellent,
Of recreations the most innocent,
But now the sport is marde, and wott ye why?
Fishes decreased, and fishers multiply.

Thomas Bastard (1598)

My dear friend, J.F., did not believe in luck, fortune, fate, kismet, or even Divine Providence. When he went fishing he approached it as he did his financial transactions - examining all the combinations and permutations of conditions that might impact his success and then making deliberate decisions based upon all relevant data...until last week.

Last Thursday in Bejing, a small black dog with white paws bit the ankle of one of the leading entrepeneurs in the new China. Among the imprecations the merchant showered upon the pup, its ancestors, and its owner, were several words overheard by a passing Englishman. The Britain, fairly new to Mandarin, misunderstood those words, interpreting "may you drown in the filth of ten thousand pigs" to be "sell LGx now or lose big". Acting upon what he believed to be a choice stock tip, and warning all his friends, who warned their friends, who warned their friends, the well-meaning Brit was able, in just a few hours, to inadvertently drive a prosperous multinational company into the penny stocks.

On the plus side, J.F. was a major analyst for the troubled company and now will have much more time for fishing...

There's a spillway where a turn-of-the-century mill once stood, you can see it from the bridge. The water in the headpond is shallow and warm, suitable only for shiners and small bass. In deep summer, barely enough water comes over the twelve foot rock dam to maintain a thigh-deep flow in the fast water below, but the water directly below the dam is deceptively deep, and well oxygenated by its travel over the rough wall. This short, wide, pool lies in shade after seven o'clock in June, and then the fish, smallmouths and browns, start to emerge from the depths for their evening feed.