THE EVENING STAR — JULY 22, 1905
PHOTOGRAPHING THE CATCH.
From the Baltimore American.
This is about the season when the industrious citizen who keeps at it through the summer, taking only a day off now and then, turns up some morning at the office with a rich, ripe tomato countenance, reaching from just north of his eyebrows down to the very edge of his collarband. Well, what luck? How many? How big were they? asks the other fellow, who knows from the infallible sign of the tomato complexion that there is a fish story pending, which cannot be suppressed even if the whole office force should sign a resolution of protest.
When the story comes it is a thriller—so thrilling that doubts naturally arise. Did you count them? Did you measure it? Did you weigh him? Did you catch them all yourself? And so, season after season, this season just the same as other seasons, the fish story is accepted with doubts, misgivings—a suspicion that is by no means carefully concealed, that the piscatorial returns have been tampered with. To brand any narrative as “a fish story” is to discredit it thoroughly and completely.
Many ingenious methods have been employed to circumvent the doubters and to clear the storied achievements of fishermen from disparaging queries and ungracious innuendos. In recent years the camera has come into general use as the fisherman’s friend—his eye
