Kinds of Anglers

by: Thaddeus Norris

There is the Fussy Angler, a great bore; of course you will shun him. The “Snob” Angler, who speaks confidently and knowingly on a slight capital of skill or experience. The Greedy, Pushy Angler, who rushes ahead and half fishes the water, leaving those who follow, in doubt as to whether he has fished a pool or rift carefully, or slurred it over in his haste to reach some well-known place down the stream before his companions. The company of these, the quiet, careful angler will avoid.

We also meet sometimes with the “Spick-and-Span” Angler, who has a highly varnished rod, and a superabundance of useless tackle; his outfit is of the most elaborate kind as regards its finish. He is a dapper “well got up” angler in all his appointments and fishes much in-doors over his claret and poteen, when he has a good listener. He frequently displays bad taste in his tackle, intended for fly-fishing, by having a thirty dollar multiplying reel, filled with some of Conroy’s very best relaid sea-grass lines, strong enough to hold a dolphin. If you meet him on the teeming waters of northern New York, the evening’s display of his catch, depends much on the rough skill of his guide.

The Rough-and-Ready Angler, the opposite of the aforenamed, disdains all “tomfoolery” and carries his tackle in an old shotbag, and his flies in a tangled mess.

We have also the Literary Angler, who reads Walton and admires him hugely; he has been inoculated with the sentiment only; the five-mile walk up the creek, where it has not been fished much, is very fatiguing to him; he “did not know he must wade the stream,” and does not until he slips in, and then he has some trouble at night to get his boots off.  He is provided with a stout bass rod, good strong leaders of salmon-gut, and a stock of Conroy’s “journal flies,” and wonders if he had not better put on a shop just above his stretcher-fly.

The Pretentious Angler, to use a favorite expression of the lamented Dickey Riker, once Recorder of the City of New York, is one “that prevails to a great extent in this community.” This gentleman has many of the qualities attributed to Fisher, of the “Angler’s Sourvenir,” to Sir Humphrey Davy. If has attained the higher branches of the art, he affects to despise all sport which he considers less scientific; if a salmon fisher, he calls trout “vermin;” if he is a trout fly-fisher, he professes contempt for bait fishing.

The True Angler is thoroughly imbued with the spirit of gentle old Izaak.  He has no affectation, and when a fly-cast is not to be had, can find amusement in catching Sunfish or Roach, and does not despise the sport of any humbler brother of the angle. With him, fishing is a recreation, and a “calmer of unquiet thoughts.” He never quarrels with his luck, knowing that satiety dulls one’s appreciation of sport as much as want of success, but is ever content when he has done his best, and looks hopefully forward to a more propitious day.  Whether from boat or rocky shore, or along the sedgy bank of the creek, or the stony margin of the mountain brook, he deems it an achievement to take fish when they are difficult to catch, and his satisfaction is in proportion.  If he is lazy, or a superannuated angler, he can even endure a few days’ trolling on an inland lake, and smokes his cigar, chats with the boatman, and takes an occasional “nip,” as he is rowed along the wooded shore and amongst the beautiful islands.

            A true angler is generally a modest man; unobtrusively communicative when he can impart a new idea; and is ever ready to let a pretentious tyro have his say, and good-naturedly (as if merely suggesting how it should be done) repairs his tackle, or gets him out of a scrape. He is moderately provided with all tackle and “fixins” necessary to the fishing he is in pursuit of. Is quietly self-reliant and equal to almost any emergency, from splicing his rod or tying his own flies, to trudging ten miles across a rough country with his luggage on his back. His enjoyment consists not only in the taking of fish; he draws pleasure from the soothing influence and delightful accompaniments of the art.

            With many persons fishing is a mere recreation, a pleasant way of killing time.  To the true angler, however, the sensation it produces is a deep unspoken joy, born of a longing for that which is quiet and peaceful, and fostered by an inbred love of communing with nature, as he walks through the grassy meads, or listens to the music of the mountain torrent. This is why he loves occasionally – whatever may be his social prity indoors – to shun the habitations and usual haunts of men, and wander alone by the stream, casting his flies over its bright waters; or in his lone canoe to skim the unruffled surface of the inland lake, where no sound comes to his ear but the wild, flute-like cry of the loon, and where no human form is seen but his own, mirrored in the glassy water.

            No wonder, then that the fly-fisher loves at times to take a day, all by himself; for his very loneliness begets a comfortable feeling of independence and leisure, and a quiet assurance of resources within himself to meet all difficulties that may arise.

            When the hoarse roar of the creek, where it surges against the base of the crag it has washed for ages, strikes his ear, or he hears it brawling over the big stones, his step quickens, and his pulse beats louder – he is no true angler if it does not – and he is not content until he gets a glimpse of its bright rushing waters at the foot of the hill.

            That like voices from far off

            Call to us to pause and listen,

            Speak in tones so plain and childlike,

            Scarcely can the ear distinguish

            Whether they are sung or spoken.

 What an unveiling of the heart it is, when the angler is alone with God and nature.