Crosscurrents: A Fly Fisher's Progress

Voorkant
Rowman & Littlefield, 1 mei 2002 - 224 pagina's
One of the most eccentric and riveting voices to be heard in the world of fly fishing has his say on just about every aspect of angling.

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Inhoudsopgave

Specks in Time
15
BlueCollar Cane
29
Fishing with a Wet Fly
39
The Indicator Papers
45
The Great Bream Expeditions
53
The Idiocy of Youth
61
New Roots from Old
71
A Pond of Ones Own
77
Leave It to Beavers
117
Gone Mad in the Midday Sun
125
Thy Rod and Thy Staff
133
Branching Out
141
Appleknocker Time
147
Cabo Wabo
155
Defenders of Midway
165
Ursa Major
177

In the Wake of Henry D
87
Alone on a Nameless Stream
95
Against the Grain
103
Ungava Ungawa
189
A Proper Toff
201
Copyright

Overige edities - Alles bekijken

Veelvoorkomende woorden en zinsdelen

Populaire passages

Pagina 1 - No life, my honest scholar, no life so happy and so pleasant as the life of a well-governed angler; for when the lawyer is swallowed up with business, and the statesman is preventing or contriving plots, then we sit on cowslip banks, hear the birds sing, and possess ourselves in as much quietness as these silent silver streams, which we now see glide so quietly by us.
Pagina 141 - Travel is fatal to prejudice, bigotry, and narrow-mindedness, and many of our people need it sorely on these accounts. Broad, wholesome, charitable views of men and things cannot be acquired by vegetating in one little corner of the earth all one's lifetime.
Pagina 95 - I never found the companion that was so companionable as solitude. We are for the most part more lonely when we go abroad among men than when we stay in our chambers. A man thinking or working is always alone, let him be where he will. Solitude is not measured by the miles of space that intervene between a man and his fellows.
Pagina 2 - We commonly do not remember that it is, after all, always the first person that is speaking. I should not talk so much about myself if there were anybody else whom I knew as well.
Pagina 94 - Nature, though it be mid-winter, is ever in her spring, where the moss-grown and decaying trees are not old, but seem to enjoy a perpetual youth; and blissful, innocent Nature, like a serene infant, is too happy to make a noise, except by a few tinkling, lisping birds and trickling rills ? What a place to live, what a place to die and be buried in ! There certainly men would live forever, and laugh at death and the grave.
Pagina 71 - ... the blue-jay, and the woodpecker, the scream of the fish-hawk and the eagle, the laugh of the loon, and the whistle of ducks along the solitary streams; at night, with the hooting of owls and howling of wolves; in summer, swarming with myriads of black flies and mosquitoes, more formidable than wolves to the white man. Such is the home of the moose, the bear, the caribou, the wolf, the beaver, and the Indian.
Pagina 61 - however wise, who has not at some period of his youth said things, or lived in a way the consciousness of which is so unpleasant to him in later life that he would gladly, if he could, expunge it from his memory.
Pagina 71 - It is a country full of evergreen trees, of mossy silver birches and watery maples, the ground dotted with insipid, small, red berries, and strewn with damp and moss-grown rocks, — a country diversified with innumerable lakes and rapid streams, peopled with trout...

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