Fisherman's Luck by B. M. GRANDY

Pacific Press Publishing Association · Mountain View, California · Oct 31, 1916

FromSigns of the Times, October 31, 1916

"Fisherman's Luck"

By B. M. GRANDY

A Tale of Two Fishermen, and of a Third — the World's Greatest Fisher

By B. M. GRANDY

Our early riser was already landing the speckled beauties.

YIELDING to the inviting lure of the distant hills, two friends had deserted their places of business in the marts of the sweltering city. They were journeying toward the spreading pines on the banks of a beautiful mountain stream.

Rushing and tumbling through the rock-ribbed cañon that rose darkly on each side for hundreds of feet, the swirling stream dashed tumultuously toward the thirsty plains below and on to the distant sea. The sparkling, dancing riffles, the dark, bubbling pools, and the swirling eddies, afforded an ideal home for the gamy mountain trout.

Under the Starlit Canvas

With glad anticipation of the sport and labor of the morrow, our two friends encamped on the bank of the stream. Supper over, the blankets were soon spread upon the leafy turf. The sweet smelling tufts of fir formed a promising shelter. The towering, silent, gray peaks stood sentinel in the same place they had stood since they were brought forth.

The strange, whispering sounds of the mountains, and the melodious song of the dashing river, served to bring sweet peace and repose to our two friends, who were soon lost in dreamless slumber. With the starlit canvas of heaven stretching over the scene, the camp of the weary travelers was one of peaceful repose.

ANOTHER day had come and gone. Evening tide, and tired, footsore, and hungry, our fishermen were again in camp, one with a well filled basket of shimmering rainbow trout, the other with only a paltry half dozen as his day's catch. "Fisherman's luck," you say. Well, that is what he said, too; but after all, what is fisherman's luck? A brief review of the events of the day may help us to decide.

In the early morning, the sun was just peeping through the narrow gorge, its warm rays spreading over the meadow near where our friends were camped. The grasshoppers were beginning to stretch their cramped legs and try their wings, when Fisherman No. 1 was out with his bait can. Sluggish with the dews of night, the grasshoppers fell an easy prey to the alert sportsman, who soon had his bait box well filled with juicy bait for the wary trout. Returning to the camp, he found his companion just arousing. Together they prepared the morning meal, which was eaten with the relish usual only to one enjoying a camp-fire breakfast after a long sojourn in town.

Landing the Speckled Beauties

Breakfast over, a few seconds were spent in washing the dishes, and as many minutes in preparing and testing the fishing tackle, and Fisherman No. 1 was ready for the day's sport. His friend had to spend some time in catching grasshoppers. By this time, the warm rays of the sun had warmed Mr. Hopper sufficiently that his capture was anything but easy. An hour passed, and still an insufficient supply of bait had been secured; but our friend decided to wait no longer. Hurrying to the stream, he saw his companion disappearing around a jagged rock far up the stream.

Our early riser was already landing the speckled beauties. From rock to rock he leaped. Scaling the almost perpendicular rocks that towered on either side, or else venturing waist deep in the icy stream, he forged continually forward. Whipping the shimmering riffles, he occasionally snared a playing trout. Lingering for a few moments at the pools and the eddies, and letting the leaden sinker draw the baited hook far down into the deep waters, he would play out the line as needed, and — zip! A thrilling twang of silken line, a graceful bend of the pole, and a "big one" was gasping for breath in the basket.

Thus the day wore on. The basket filled slowly but surely; and when the time came for the return to camp, fisherman's luck had rewarded our fisherman with a well filled basket.

Bewailing His Hard Luck

But how had our other friend spent his day? Late to reach the water's edge, and with insufficient bait, he found that the fish were not biting very well that day. He decided that it was not of much use to fish; but since he had come that far, he would try his luck for a while anyway. An occasional nibble kept his courage from entirely dying. His carelessly baited hook, slow to attract the attention of the wary denizens of the mountain stream, was often swept clean of bait by the dashing waters.

His bait can was soon empty, and he was forced to retrace his steps to the meadow, and spend another hour in capturing the elusive hopper, made even more active by the rays of the noonday sun.

Thus the day wore on. His fishing day was mostly spent in catching bait, going to and fro, and bewailing his hard luck. At setting sun, the weary fisherman wended his way toward the distant camp. "Fisherman's luck" had been against him that day. It is plain to be seen, in this case at least, that fisherman's luck is made of about the same material that comprises other kinds of luck; namely, careful preparation, diligent application, continual activity, a goodly supply of optimism, determination, and hard work.

FISHERS of men, mayhap there is a lesson for you. Jesus, you remember, found two brothers casting their net into the sea. "And He saith unto them, Follow Me, and I will make you fishers of men." It is something to be a fisher of men; but it is something infinitely more to be a successful fisher of men. By following Him, we may be the latter.

In the early morning of life, He was filling His can with bait. From His gentle mother, He learned lessons of obedience and submission. The lesson of meekness and humility, she had learned in the school of experience. This she imparted to her Son.

Fishing in Humanity's Stream

At Joseph's bench, He learned the lessons of diligence, application, and precision. In the school of nature, His heavenly Father's great school, with grades from the simplest kindergarten to sciences yet untouched by mortal man, He stored His receptive mind with the great truths to be used in His short day of fishing in the stream of humanity.

The word of the Father, imparted through patriarchs and prophets, was His daily study; daily converse with Him in prayer, His chiefest delight.

At the early age of twelve, we find Him testing His "tackle" as He meets the wise men of Israel and causes them to marvel.

The interval of preparation is soon passed. The Fisherman of Galilee stands on the edge of the changing stream of the human race, His preparation complete, ready to cast the gospel line. Not once did He falter in His appointed work.

Landed in the Gospel Net

Skimming the shining riffles on the gay stream of humanity at Cana, His bait attracts the hungry souls. With unerring accuracy, the well baited hook shot forth as He lingered for the cooling drink at the well of Samaria, and a soul is landed in the gospel net.

Standing calmly by the eddy of many nations, He casts the hook, baited with the beatitudes, and multitudes are caught.

In the busy market street, He tarries for a moment; and Matthew and Zacchaeus, men of the business world, erstwhile greedy for gold, are gathered into the gospel net.

Beneath the frowning shadows of the temple, in the deep and dark pools of Pharisaical pride and arrogance, He falters not to cast the line. Nicodemus and Joseph of Arimathea witness that the cast was not in vain.

With indefatigable zeal and indomitable courage, the stalwart Fisherman of Galilee presses on up the stream, toward the end of the journey.

Eleventh-Hour Fishing

The day is closing. The Fisherman, worn and weary with His day's work, hangs on the cruel cross. The cry of "It is finished" is soon to pierce the sultry air, when again the line is gently lowered, baited with the words, "Father, forgive them; for they know not what they do." The dying thief, yielding to the eleventh-hour invitation, is snatched from perdition, and cries out, "Lord, remember me." The heart of the centurion, hardened by bloody campaigning, is broken; and in awe-stricken whisper he breathes, "Truly this was the Son of God."

"Fisherman's Luck"

(Continued from page 4)

Surely the Master's was a day well spent in fishing for men.

"Follow Me." Peter, John, James, and Paul respond to the invitation; and at the set of sun, they lay at the Master's feet well filled baskets, the evidence that "fisherman's luck" has been with them.

"Follow Me." Wycliffe, Huss, Jerome, Luther, Calvin, Wesley, heed the call. The work done by these stalwart reformers witnesses as to what kind of "fisherman's luck" was theirs.

"Follow Me." The cry is echoing in every land to-day. Thousands of men and women are going forth to spend their little day in fishing for men.

The luck of Fisherman No. 2 may be the fate of some, but not of those who fully heed the call of "Follow Me." That path will lead over rugged mountain passes, up the turbulent stream of humanity, but it will lead to success.

"Fisherman's luck" will bring to the faithful follower of the great Fisher of men a rich reward. The time for the final coming to camp is near at hand. May it then appear that you have not spent life's fishing day in vain.