Mariner
Member
- Joined
- Jun 25, 2008
- Messages
- 268
Ever since I read The Vanishing Trout I've had a thing for rare-ish books. Bodines, by a fellow with the wonderful name of Dr. Thaddeus Up de Graff, until recently was pretty hard to find for less than a few hundred bucks. Forgotten Books picked it up recently and it's super cheap, and not hard to find for free as a .pdf online. (I don't know the publishing industry, but the 1879 original publication date might have something to do with its cheaper availability now.
So, it's not a great fishing book. It's not even about a part of the country with great fishing today. It's barely literary, but I love this book. Like Vanishing Trout, it's a great documentation of the 'good old days' of fly fishing. It's from the days when pretty much all moving water had brook trout.
A wealthy knickerbocker of a doctor spends his summers at camp in the country between Cushman and the southern-flowing tribs of the Loyalsock--a lot of ground for one summer by "primitive transport". He pulls in some of his friends into the fray. Occassionally their families visit them.
What gets me is how they'd travel--by train everywhere. And it was just as fast as packing everything we own into the SUV and going for a weekend today. Before they'd board a train, they'd wire ahead to their destination to arrange a driver & cart to take them up some drainage to explore--19th century Uber.
These guys would wake, take tea, smoke pipes, eat bacon & biscuits, pack a simple lunch in a waxed cloth, casually fish all day, and return for dinner prepared by a servant--the ugly part of the good old days. They'd fish so much they'd get bored, pick flowers, chat up the locals, snare suckers, fly fish for deer, live-trap a woodchuck for a camp pet chained to the main tent pole--random stuff.
Part of it sounds like roughing it. Being a tightfisted Dutchman, deGraff makes his own tents & waxes his own tarpaulines (if you're interested there are plans & formulae within). If the fishing is great they might not come back for dinner and sleep on a rock with a punk fire for the mosquitoes.
But it really stood out to me that they were as comfortable & well-equipped as we would be on our camping adventures. They ate well, slept on mattresses stuffed with straw bought from local farmers (along with perishable foods) and relied upon locals for transport, a warm bath, and news. They had lengthy arguments over their tackle--rod length, material, leader formulae, whether to carry many flies to be equipped for any condition or to carry just enough--THE SAME STUFF WE TALK ABOUT TODAY.
If you're into wetfly fishing, this is probably up your alley. If you're interested in historical ecology--this is a really interesting account. He writes of bobcats on a trail in Potter Co. as numerous as cats in a barn. If you're looking for camp hijinks--there are none. Not even when a trainload of women show up. No booze, except for medicine.
Enjoy!
So, it's not a great fishing book. It's not even about a part of the country with great fishing today. It's barely literary, but I love this book. Like Vanishing Trout, it's a great documentation of the 'good old days' of fly fishing. It's from the days when pretty much all moving water had brook trout.
A wealthy knickerbocker of a doctor spends his summers at camp in the country between Cushman and the southern-flowing tribs of the Loyalsock--a lot of ground for one summer by "primitive transport". He pulls in some of his friends into the fray. Occassionally their families visit them.
What gets me is how they'd travel--by train everywhere. And it was just as fast as packing everything we own into the SUV and going for a weekend today. Before they'd board a train, they'd wire ahead to their destination to arrange a driver & cart to take them up some drainage to explore--19th century Uber.
These guys would wake, take tea, smoke pipes, eat bacon & biscuits, pack a simple lunch in a waxed cloth, casually fish all day, and return for dinner prepared by a servant--the ugly part of the good old days. They'd fish so much they'd get bored, pick flowers, chat up the locals, snare suckers, fly fish for deer, live-trap a woodchuck for a camp pet chained to the main tent pole--random stuff.
Part of it sounds like roughing it. Being a tightfisted Dutchman, deGraff makes his own tents & waxes his own tarpaulines (if you're interested there are plans & formulae within). If the fishing is great they might not come back for dinner and sleep on a rock with a punk fire for the mosquitoes.
But it really stood out to me that they were as comfortable & well-equipped as we would be on our camping adventures. They ate well, slept on mattresses stuffed with straw bought from local farmers (along with perishable foods) and relied upon locals for transport, a warm bath, and news. They had lengthy arguments over their tackle--rod length, material, leader formulae, whether to carry many flies to be equipped for any condition or to carry just enough--THE SAME STUFF WE TALK ABOUT TODAY.
If you're into wetfly fishing, this is probably up your alley. If you're interested in historical ecology--this is a really interesting account. He writes of bobcats on a trail in Potter Co. as numerous as cats in a barn. If you're looking for camp hijinks--there are none. Not even when a trainload of women show up. No booze, except for medicine.
Enjoy!
