Fishing With A Worm

One of my favorite old books is this small little work extolling the virtue of worms and worm fishing. Like the prosaic works given over to fly fishing, the 40-odd pages here treat the lowly worm and it's adherents with equal favor.
Here, then, is an excerpt from... 

Fishing With A Worm

by Perry Bliss
Houghton Mifflin, ©1904

“To make the most of dull hours; to make the best of dull people; to like a poor jest better than none; to wear a threadbare coat like a gentleman; to be outvoted with a smile; to hitch your wagon to the old nag if no thoroughbred is handy, this is the wholesome philosophy taught by fishing with a worm."

Trout feed upon an extraordinary variety of crawling things, as all fishermen know who practice the useful habit of opening the first two or three fish they catch, to see what food is that day the favorite.

But here, as elsewhere in this world, the best things lie nearest, and there is no bait so killing, week in and week out, as your plain garden or golf-green angleworm.
Walton's list of possible worms is impressive, and his directions for placing them upon the hook have the placid completeness that belonged to his character.

But the fact remains that these words were his...

"The last fish I caught was with a worm," says the honest Walton.

Such questions, like those pertaining to the boots or coat which one should wear, the style of bait-box one should carry, or the brand of tobacco best suited for smoking in the wind, are topics for unending discussion among the serious minded around the camp-fire. Much edification is in them, but they are mere moralities, counsels of worldly wisdom. They leave the soul untouched.

A man may have these answers at his finger tips and be no better fisherman at bottom; or he may ignore most of the admitted rules and come home with a full basket.
It is a sufficient defense of fishing with a worm to pronounce the 

truism that no man is a complete angler until he has mastered all the modes of angling.

But ah, to fish with a worm, and then not catch your fish! Disaster!

To fail with a fly is no disgrace: your art may have been impeccable, your stance perfect, your patience faultless to the end. Indeed, all of fishing with flies hinges upon this interpretation.

But the philosophy of wormfishing is that of Results, of having something tangible in your basket when the day's work is done. It is a plea for Compromise, for cutting the coat according to the cloth, for taking the world as it actually is.

And all over the world, the fly-fisherman is the epitome of anglers.
He is the natural Foe of Compromise.
He throws to the fish a certain kind of lure, one he has masterfully chosen, or perhaps made, himself.
They may take it, and the battle is joined!
If they do not rise; if they scorn his efforts, well, to hell with them.
They have missed their chance for fame at his hands.

The fly fisherman, then, knows nothing of sitting on the fence.
He revels in the purity of his craft.
His handling of the rod is alwats impeccable, his patience boundless to the end.
The joy of utter dependability is his. He scorns the indifferent earth.
All honor is his, even when he alone is cheering!

When he comes back at nightfall and says earnestly, ‘I have never cast a line more perfectly than I have today,’ well, it is understood he caught nothing, and it is almost indecent to peek into his creel.

By contrast, the philosophy of the angle worm is one of Grave Results.

Artifice and Contrivance are not in the worm fisherman; he is not a proud and isolated soul. He is a "low man,” rather than a high one.
He cares greatly what his friends think when they look into his basket.
He wants to have something to show for his day's sport.
Breakfast calls to him from his bed at night, flour and meal without fish is an insult to him...

He watches the Foes of Compromise wade forward into the foaming rill. 

They splash wetly in the water and occasionally go down, bested by a slippery rock.
When they come up, they offer the smug smile of the pious. 

Meanwhile the worm man, with courage more flexible than theirs, manages to keep his feet on the dryer rocks or graveled shore. 

His concern is for a pipe well lit; he wants only a quiet pocket or fallen log where he may dip his wriggling bait.

His driving aim is to score.
Giving a pretty exhibition of things is not in his mind.
Some men fish as if the camera is watching their every move.
To be seen, and have others know it, that drives them on.
The worm fisherman is a little different; he is the Friend of the Frying Pan.
Picture perfect casts and the proper pose are for the other chaps.

But do not despise him; he is not despicable.
Nor is he a fish hog, or the enemy of Nature.
He values conservation and stewardship as much as the next man, and he returns to the water undersized and unfit fish.
His greatest sin is that he measures his efforts by tangible, legal fish in the basket at the end of the day.
Anything less is abject failure to him.

The Foes of Compromise, on the other hand, well, they like a good fish, too.
But having tried and failed is its own reward in their eyes.
He who strikes out on the rugged and lonely road, and ends short of the hearth, is forgiven.

But, should one give over to plebian pursuit and the vulgar Spirit of Results, the only outcome worth telling is Success.
Unlike the feather and tinsel of the artificial fly, the worm is the natural food of the fish.
To fail with it, then, when all is assured – this is the height of effrontery.

No one forgives the worm fisherman, when he has nothing to show.
Tossing a worm brings Expectation and the want of Success to both friends and Gods alike.

To fail with a fly, why, that is no disgrace. One might even say it's a welcome outsome.

Casting the fly is key. It is about Art, Hope and Release - these are enough.
"The fish just did not like my flies," is not an excuse for an empty creel.
No, it is a valid, unassailble REASON.

The fly-fisherman, then, always has his rigid and unyielding Art Craft to back him up, should the day end without fish.

But the worm caster, once he has crossed over, faces the unwavering demand of Success. There are no excuses for him. His only reward is the base pleasure of a full belly.
He may delight in simply catching fish, and each one caught takes him back to his youth. But, that is not enough.

When he fills his basket, it is by using the grubby inhabitants of dirt, mold and damp.
The Foes of Compromise peer at him over glinting lenses and scoff; the worm man took the easy way out.

As long as he persists at this, he forever forfeits the rewards of Art, Purity and Reasons.

That he chooses this path when the fly rod offers a handy way out makes him, perhaps, the sturdiest of all his brother anglers.