Author: Stephen Leacock
Category: Humorous
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XIII. The Old, Old Story of How Five Men Went Fishing
This is a plain account of a fishing party. It is not a story. Thereis no plot. Nothing happens in it and nobody is hurt. The only point ofthis narrative is its peculiar truth. It not only tells what happenedto us--the five people concerned in it--but what has happened and ishappening to all the other fishing parties that at the season of theyear, from Halifax to Idaho, go gliding out on the unruffled surfaceof our Canadian and American lakes in the still cool of early summermorning.
We decided to go in the early morning because there is a popular beliefthat the early morning is the right time for bass fishing. The bass issaid to bite in the early morning. Perhaps it does. In fact the thingis almost capable of scientific proof. The bass does _not_ bite betweeneight and twelve. It does _not_ bite between twelve and six in theafternoon. Nor does it bite between six o'clock and midnight. All thesethings are known facts. The inference is that the bass bites furiouslyat about daybreak.
At any rate our party were unanimous about starting early. "Bettermake an early start," said the Colonel, when the idea of the party wassuggested. "Oh, yes," said George Popley, the bank manager, "we want toget right out on the shoal while the fish are biting."
When he said this all our eyes glistened. Everybody's do. There's athrill in the words. To "get right out on the shoal at daybreak when thefish are biting," is an idea that goes to any man's brain.
If you listen to the men talking in a Pullman car, or an hotel corridor,or, better still, at the little tables in a first-class bar, you willnot listen long before you hear one say: "Well, we got out early, justafter sunrise, right on the shoal." And presently, even if you can'thear him, you will see him reach out his two hands and hold them abouttwo feet apart for the other man to admire. He is measuring the fish.No, not the fish they caught; this was the big one that they lost. Butthey had him right up to the top of the water. Oh, yes, he was up tothe top of the water all right. The number of huge fish that have beenheaved up to the top of the water in our lakes is almost incredible. Orat least it used to be when we still had bar rooms and little tablesfor serving that vile stuff Scotch whisky and such foul things as ginRickeys and John Collinses. It makes one sick to think of it, doesn'tit? But there was good fishing in the bars, all the winter.
But, as I say, we decided to go early in the morning. Charlie Jones,the railroad man, said that he remembered how when he was a boy, up inWisconsin, they used to get out at five in the morning--not get upat five but be on the shoal at five. It appears that there is a shoalsomewhere in Wisconsin where the bass lie in thousands. Kernin, thelawyer, said that when he was a boy--this was on Lake Rosseau--they usedto get out at four. It seems there is a shoal in Lake Rosseau where youcan haul up the bass as fast as you can drop your line. The shoal ishard to find--very hard. Kernin can find it, but it is doubtful--so Igather--if any other living man can. The Wisconsin shoal, too, is verydifficult to find. Once you find it, you are all right; but it's hard tofind. Charlie Jones can find it. If you were in Wisconsin right now he'dtake you straight to it, but probably no other person now alive couldreach that shoal. In the same way Colonel Morse knows of a shoal inLake Simcoe where he used to fish years and years ago and which, Iunderstand, he can still find.
I have mentioned that Kernin is a lawyer, and Jones a railroad manand Popley a banker. But I needn't have. Any reader would take it forgranted. In any fishing party there is always a lawyer. You can tell himat sight. He is the one of the party that has a landing net and a steelrod in sections with a wheel that is used to wind the fish to the top ofthe water.
And there is always a banker. You can tell him by his good clothes.Popley, in the bank, wears his banking suit. When he goes fishing hewears his fishing suit. It is much the better of the two, because hisbanking suit has ink marks on it, and his fishing suit has no fish markson it.
As for the railroad man--quite so, the reader knows it as well as Ido--you can tell him because he carries a pole that he cut in the bushhimself, with a ten-cent line wrapped round the end of it. Jones sayshe can catch as many fish with this kind of line as Kernin can with hispatent rod and wheel. So he can too. Just the same number.
But Kernin says that with his patent apparatus if you get a fish on youcan _play_ him. Jones says to Hades with _playing_ him: give him a fishon his line and he'll haul him in all right. Kernin says he'd lose him.But Jones says _he_ wouldn't. In fact he _guarantees_ to haul the fishin. Kernin says that more than once--in Lake Rosseau--he has played afish for over half an hour. I forget now why he stopped; I think thefish quit playing.
I have heard Kernin and Jones argue this question of their two rods,as to which rod can best pull in the fish, for half an hour. Others mayhave heard the same question debated. I know no way by which it could besettled.
Our arrangement to go fishing was made at the little golf club of oursummer town on the veranda where we sit in the evening. Oh, it's justa little place, nothing pretentious: the links are not much good for_golf_; in fact we don't play much _golf_ there, so far as golf goes,and of course, we don't serve meals at the club, it's not like that--andno, we've nothing to drink there because of prohibition. But we go and_sit_ there. It is a good place to _sit_, and, after all, what else canyou do in the present state of the law?
So it was there that we arranged the party.
The thing somehow seemed to fall into the mood of each of us. Jones saidhe had been hoping that some of the boys would get up a fishing party.It was apparently the one kind of pleasure that he really cared for. Formyself I was delighted to get in with a crowd of regular fishermenlike these four, especially as I hadn't been out fishing for nearly tenyears, though fishing is a thing I am passionately fond of. I know nopleasure in life like the sensation of getting a four-pound bass on thehook and hauling him up to the top of the water, to weigh him. But, asI say, I hadn't been out for ten years. Oh, yes, I live right besidethe water every summer, and yes, certainly--I am saying so--I ampassionately fond of fishing, but still somehow I hadn't been _out_.Every fisherman knows just how that happens. The years have a way ofslipping by. Yet I must say I was surprised to find that so keen a sportas Jones hadn't been out--so it presently appeared--for eight years. Ihad imagined he practically lived on the water. And Colonel Morse andKernin, I was amazed to find, hadn't been out for twelve years, notsince the day--so it came out in conversation--when they went outtogether in Lake Rosseau and Kernin landed a perfect monster, a regularcorker, five pounds and a half, they said; or no, I don't think he_landed_ him. No, I remember, he didn't _land_ him. He caught him--andhe _could_ have landed him, he should have landed him--but he _didn't_land him. That was it. Yes, I remember Kernin and Morse had a slightdiscussion about it--oh, perfectly amicable--as to whether Morse hadfumbled with the net or whether Kernin--the whole argument was perfectlyfriendly--had made an ass of himself by not "striking" soon enough. Ofcourse the whole thing was so long ago that both of them could lookback on it without any bitterness or ill nature. In fact it amused them.Kernin said it was the most laughable thing he ever saw in his life tosee poor old Jack--that's Morse's name--shoving away with the landingnet wrong side up. And Morse said he'd never forget seeing poor oldKernin yanking his line first this way and then that and not knowingwhere to try to haul it. It made him laugh to look back at it.
They might have gone on laughing for quite a time, but Charlie Jonesinterrupted by saying that in his opinion a landing net is a piece ofdarned foolishness. Here Popley agrees with him. Kernin objects that ifyou don't use a net you'll lose your fish at the side of the boat. Jonessays no: give him a hook well through the fish and a stout line in hishand and that fish has _got_ to come in. Popley says so too. He says lethim have his hook fast through the fish's head with a short stout line,and put him (Popley) at the other end of that line and that fish willcome in. It's _got_ to. Otherwise Popley will know why. That's thealternative. Either the fish must come in or Popley must know why.There's no escape from the logic of it.
So, as I say, we decided to go the next morning and to make an earlystart. All of the boys were at one about that. When I say "boys," I usethe word, as it is used in fishing, to mean people from say forty-fiveto sixty-five. There is something about fishing that keeps men young. Ifa fellow gets out for a good morning's fishing, forgetting all businessworries, once in a while--say, once in ten years--it keeps him fresh.
We agreed to go in a launch, a large launch--to be exact, the largestin the town. We could have gone in row boats, but a row boat is a poorthing to fish from. Kernin said that in a row boat it is impossibleproperly to "_play_" your fish. The side of the boat is so low thatthe fish is apt to leap over the side into the boat when half "played."Popley said that there is no comfort in a row boat. In a launch a mancan reach out his feet and take it easy. Charlie Jones said that in alaunch a man could rest his back against something, and Morse said thatin a launch a man could rest his neck. Young inexperienced boys, in thesmall sense of the word, never think of these things. So they go outand after a few hours their necks get tired; whereas a group of expertfishers in a launch can rest their backs and necks and even fall asleepduring the pauses when the fish stop biting.
Anyway all the "boys" agreed that the great advantage of a launch wouldbe that we could get a _man_ to take us. By that means the man could seeto getting the worms, and the man would be sure to have spare lines, andthe man could come along to our different places--we were all beside thewater--and pick us up. In fact the more we thought about the advantageof having a "man" to take us the better we liked it. As a boy gets oldhe likes to have a man around to do the work.
Anyway Frank Rolls, the man we decided to get, not only has the biggestlaunch in town but what is more Frank _knows_ the lake. We called him upat his boat-house over the phone and said we'd give him five dollars totake us out first thing in the morning provided that he knew the shoal.He said he knew it.
I don't know, to be quite candid about it, who mentioned whisky first.In these days everybody has to be a little careful. I imagine we had allbeen _thinking_ whisky for some time before anybody said it. But thereis a sort of convention that when men go fishing they must have whisky.Each man makes the pretence that one thing he needs at six o'clock inthe morning is cold raw whisky. It is spoken of in terms of affection.One man says the first thing you need if you're going fishing is a good"snort" of whisky; another says that a good "snifter" is the very thing;and the others agree that no man can fish properly without "a horn," ora "bracer" or an "eye-opener." Each man really decides that he himselfwon't take any. But he feels that, in a collective sense, the "boys"need it.
So it was with us. The Colonel said he'd bring along "a bottle ofbooze." Popley said, no, let _him_ bring it; Kernin said let him; andCharlie Jones said no, he'd bring it. It turned out that the Colonel hadsome very good Scotch at his house that he'd like to bring; oddly enoughPopley had some good Scotch in _his_ house too; and, queer though it is,each of the boys had Scotch in his house. When the discussion closedwe knew that each of the five of us was intending to bring a bottle ofwhisky. Each of the five of us expected the other to drink one and aquarter bottles in the course of the morning.
I suppose we must have talked on that veranda till long after one in themorning. It was probably nearer two than one when we broke up. But weagreed that that made no difference. Popley said that for him threehours' sleep, the right kind of sleep, was far more refreshing than ten.Kernin said that a lawyer learns to snatch his sleep when he can, andJones said that in railroad work a man pretty well cuts out sleep.
So we had no alarms whatever about not being ready by five. Our plan wassimplicity itself. Men like ourselves in responsible positions learn toorganize things easily. In fact Popley says it is that faculty that hasput us where we are. So the plan simply was that Frank Rolls should comealong at five o'clock and blow his whistle in front of our places, andat that signal each man would come down to his wharf with his rod andkit and so we'd be off to the shoal without a moment's delay.
The weather we ruled out. It was decided that even if it rained thatmade no difference. Kernin said that fish bite better in the rain. Andeverybody agreed that man with a couple of snorts in him need have nofear of a little rain water.
So we parted, all keen on the enterprise. Nor do I think even now thatthere was anything faulty or imperfect in that party as we planned it.
I heard Frank Rolls blowing his infernal whistle opposite my summercottage at some ghastly hour in the morning. Even without getting out ofbed, I could see from the window that it was no day for fishing. No, notraining exactly. I don't mean that, but one of those peculiar days--Idon't mean _wind_--there was no wind, but a sort of feeling in the airthat showed anybody who understands bass fishing that it was a perfectlyrotten day for going out. The fish, I seemed to know it, wouldn't bite.
When I was still fretting over the annoyance of the disappointment Iheard Frank Rolls blowing his whistle in front of the other cottages. Icounted thirty whistles altogether. Then I fell into a light doze--notexactly sleep, but a sort of _doze_--I can find no other word for it. Itwas clear to me that the other "boys" had thrown the thing over. Therewas no use in my trying to go out alone. I stayed where I was, my dozelasting till ten o'clock.
When I walked up town later in the morning I couldn't help being struckby the signs in the butcher's shops and the restaurants, FISH, FRESHFISH, FRESH LAKE FISH.
Where in blazes do they get those fish anyway?