I
Angling is set down by the master of the craft, whom all revere but none
now follow, as the Contemplative Man's Recreation; but is the angler,
while angling, a contemplative man?
That beloved and worthy brother whose worm-baited hook dangles in quiet
waters, placid as his mind--till some wayfaring perch, or bream, or
bullhead shall by chance come upon it, he, meanwhile, with rod set in
the bank, taking his ease upon the fresh June sward, not touching his
tackle nor regarding it but with the corner of an eye--he may
contemplate and dream day dreams. He may watch the clouds drifting
across the blue, the green branches waving between him and them,
consider the lilies of the field, note the songs of the catbird in the
willow thicket, watch the poise and plunge of the kingfisher, and so
spend all the day with nature and his own lazy thoughts. That is what he
came for. Angling with him is only a pretense, an excuse to pay a visit
to the great mother whom he so dearly loves; and if he carries home not
so much as a scale, he is happy and content.
But how is it with him who comes stealing along with such light tread
that it scarcely crushes the violets or shakes the dewdrops from the
ferns, and casts his flies with such precise skill upon the very
handsbreadth of water that gives most promise to his experienced eye; or
drops his minnow with such care into the eddying pool, where he feels a
bass must lie awaiting it. Eye and ear and every organ of sense are
intent upon the sport for which he came. He sees only the images of the
clouds, no branch but that which impedes him or offers cover to his
stealthy approach. His ear is more alert for the splash of fishes than
for bird songs. With his senses go all his thoughts, and float not away
in day dreams.
Howsoever much he loves her, for the time while he hath rod in hand
Mother Nature is a fish-woman, and he prays that she may deal generously
with him. Though he be a parson, his thoughts tend not to religion;
though a savant, not to science; though a statesman, not to politics;
though an artist, to no art save the art of angling. So far removed from
all these while he casts his fly or guides his minnow, how much further
is his soul from all but the matter in hand when a fish has taken the
one or the other, and all his skill is taxed to the utmost to bring his
victim to creel. Heresy and paganism may prevail, the light of science
be quenched, the country go to the dogs, pictures go unpainted, and
statues unmoulded till he has saved this fish.
When the day is spent, the day's sport done, and he wends his way
homeward with a goodly score, satisfied with himself and all the world
besides, he may ponder on many things apart from that which has this day
taken him by green fields and pleasant waters. Now he may brood his
thoughts, and dream dreams; but while he angles, the complete angler is
not a contemplative man.