The true fisherman approaches the first day of fishing season with all the sense of wonder and awe of a child approaching Christmas.

Fly-fishing for wild trout on quiet waters must be one of the toughest and craziest ways to catch fish ever invented by man, as well as among the most frustrating and humiliating.

I fish because I love to . . . because I love the environs where trout are found . . . because I suspect that men are going along this way for the last time, and I for one don’t want to waste the trip . . . and, finally, not because I regard fishing as being so terribly important but because I suspect that so many of the other concerns of men are equally unimportant––and not nearly so much fun.

To paraphrase a deceased patriot, I regret that I have only one life to give to my fly-fishing.

Most fisherman, including this one, cling to their pet stupidities as they would to a battered briar or an old jacket; and their dogged persistence in wrong methods and general wrong-headedness finally wins the a sort of grudging admiration, if not many fish.

The best time to go fishing is when you can get away.

One of the first rules in fishing is that there are few rules in fishing that resourceful trout do not manage to break.