On another occasion a pair of “newly-weds” went out angling.  When “hubby” caught a fish, the pair celebrated the catch by enthusiastically kissing, totally regardless of the surprise or envy that might be excited in the bosom of the poor boatman, and when “wifie” caught a fish the same procedure was repeated.  “Of course,” said the boatman, in telling me the story, “that pair caught more fish than any one I had had for a month, simply to taunt me with their carryings on.”

In the height of the season the guests become the most enthusiastic fishermen of all.  They take a growing pride in their increasing scores and the fishing then resolves itself into an earnest, almost deadly, tournament in which each determines to outscore the others.  This is what the boatmen enjoy—­though it often means longer hours and more severe rowing—­for it is far easier to work (so they say) for a “fare” who is really interested than for one who is halfhearted and indifferent.

As these rivals’ boats pass each other they call out in triumph their rising luck, or listen gloweringly to the recital of others’ good fortune, when they are compelled to silence because of their own failure.

Sometimes the boatmen find these rivalries rather embarrassing, for the excitement and nervousness of their “fares” become communicated to them.  Then, perhaps, they lose a promising strike, or, in their hurry, fail to land the fish when it appears.  Scolding and recriminations are not uncommon on such occasions, and thus is the gayety of nations added to.

What is it that really constitutes “fisherman’s luck”?  Who can tell?  The theories of Tahoe fishermen are as many as there are men.  Some think one thing, some another.  One will talk learnedly of the phases of the moon, another of the effect of warmer or colder weather upon the “bugs” upon which the fish feed.

Sometimes one will “jerk” half a day and never get a strike; other days the boat will scarcely have left the wharf before one pulls the fish in almost as fast as hooks can be baited and thrown out.  When fishing is slow an amateur soon becomes tired out.  The monotonous pull on the line soon makes the arm weary, and destroys all enthusiasm.  But let the strikes begin and weariness disappears.  Some days the fish will bite for an hour, say from eleven to twelve, and then quit and not give another strike all day.  The very next day, in the same spot, one cannot get a bite until afternoon.

One of my fishermen friends once related the following:  “Again and again I have heard old and experienced fishermen say that no fish can be caught in a thunder-storm.  Yet in July 1913 four boats were towed by a launch out to the Nevada side, near to Glenbrook.  It appeared stormy before the party left, but they refused to be daunted or discouraged by the doleful prognostications of the “know-it-alls.”  Before long the lightning began, the clouds hung heavy, and while they fished they were treated to alternate doses of