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The following poem was written by the late Noel (Spider) McArdle and shows
how much he loved to cast a fly on a summers evening on the River Fane. |
Oh to Trot a Weighted Nymph
Oh to trot a weighted nymph down through a tumbling run
To cast your fly to a rising trout in the evenings fading sun
To listen to the blackbirds shrill as she warns along the hedge
As up above the tree tops begins the dance of sedge
An as you move along the bank to fly life you observe
You know the trout have got to eat so what meal do you serve
Will it be an olive or coachman of the night?
An iron blue? a red spinner? the choice is must be right
Then suddenly in front of you a trout the water breaks
With effortless precision the hatching fly he takes
And, as you are tying on a fly, up he comes again
Suddenly you wonder, will three pound take the strain
Your cast it so just perfect, the fly it lands so well
Will that trout come up for it? only he can tell
Then all at once, the water breaks and the trout your fly he takes
Your reel it screams with stripping line as you apply the breaks
And as you hold your fishing rod it bends, under the strain
The trout, he is fighting harder his freedom for to gain
Then you get the upper hand so you prepare your net
But hold it there a minute the fights not over yet
Then as he makes another run and you are holding tight
The end is coming closer to this friendly fight
Now you gain the upper hand and draw him to the net
A beautiful wild brown trout whom you are glad you’ve met
As you lay him on the bank you gaze down on his beauty
You release him back to his domain, for he has done his duty
And as he swims with ease and grace out to the waters deep
You thank him for the memories that you forever keep
© Noel McArdle 2010
Oh to trot a weighted nymph down through a tumbling run
To cast your fly to a rising trout in the evenings fading sun
To listen to the blackbirds shrill as she warns along the hedge
As up above the tree tops begins the dance of sedge
An as you move along the bank to fly life you observe
You know the trout have got to eat so what meal do you serve
Will it be an olive or coachman of the night?
An iron blue? a red spinner? the choice is must be right
Then suddenly in front of you a trout the water breaks
With effortless precision the hatching fly he takes
And, as you are tying on a fly, up he comes again
Suddenly you wonder, will three pound take the strain
Your cast it so just perfect, the fly it lands so well
Will that trout come up for it? only he can tell
Then all at once, the water breaks and the trout your fly he takes
Your reel it screams with stripping line as you apply the breaks
And as you hold your fishing rod it bends, under the strain
The trout, he is fighting harder his freedom for to gain
Then you get the upper hand so you prepare your net
But hold it there a minute the fights not over yet
Then as he makes another run and you are holding tight
The end is coming closer to this friendly fight
Now you gain the upper hand and draw him to the net
A beautiful wild brown trout whom you are glad you’ve met
As you lay him on the bank you gaze down on his beauty
You release him back to his domain, for he has done his duty
And as he swims with ease and grace out to the waters deep
You thank him for the memories that you forever keep
© Noel McArdle 2010
A Boy and His Dad
by Edgar A. Guest
A boy and his dad on a fishing-trip--
There is a glorious fellowship!
Father and son and the open sky
And the white clouds lazily drifting by,
And the laughing stream as it runs along
With the clicking reel like a martial song,
And the father teaching the youngster gay
How to land a fish in the sportsman's way.
I fancy I hear them talking there
In an open boat, and the speech is fair.
And the boy is learning the ways of men
From the finest man in his youthful ken.
Kings, to the youngster, cannot compare
With the gentle father who's with him there.
And the greatest mind of the human race
Not for one minute could take his place.
Which is happier, man or boy?
The soul of the father is steeped in joy,
For he's finding out, to his heart's delight,
That his son is fit for the future fight.
He is learning the glorious depths of him,
And the thoughts he thinks and his every whim;
And he shall discover, when night comes on,
How close he has grown to his little son.
A boy and his dad on a fishing-trip--
Builders of life's companionship!
Oh, I envy them, as I see them there
Under the sky in the open air,
For out of the old, old long-ago
Come the summer days that I used to know,
When I learned life's truths from my father's lips
As I shared the joy of his fishing-trips.
by Edgar A. Guest
A boy and his dad on a fishing-trip--
There is a glorious fellowship!
Father and son and the open sky
And the white clouds lazily drifting by,
And the laughing stream as it runs along
With the clicking reel like a martial song,
And the father teaching the youngster gay
How to land a fish in the sportsman's way.
I fancy I hear them talking there
In an open boat, and the speech is fair.
And the boy is learning the ways of men
From the finest man in his youthful ken.
Kings, to the youngster, cannot compare
With the gentle father who's with him there.
And the greatest mind of the human race
Not for one minute could take his place.
Which is happier, man or boy?
The soul of the father is steeped in joy,
For he's finding out, to his heart's delight,
That his son is fit for the future fight.
He is learning the glorious depths of him,
And the thoughts he thinks and his every whim;
And he shall discover, when night comes on,
How close he has grown to his little son.
A boy and his dad on a fishing-trip--
Builders of life's companionship!
Oh, I envy them, as I see them there
Under the sky in the open air,
For out of the old, old long-ago
Come the summer days that I used to know,
When I learned life's truths from my father's lips
As I shared the joy of his fishing-trips.