"Gone Fishing"

By Jennie Shurtleff

Humans have been fishing for at least 42,000 years. While the earliest anglers fished primarily for survival, by the 19th century, recreational and social aspects had become just as important—if not more so—for many non-commercial fishers.

In the late 1800s, Edward Dana, who grew up in a stately home on Elm Street in Woodstock, Vermont, recalled the enthusiasm that local boys had for fishing. “The boys used to fish a good deal,” he wrote, “making much of it when such a good sport was at hand… Not all of them were successful, but they were persistent in the face of garden work at home, and an all-day outing was one of the chief joys of the summertime.”

The Dana House, located at 26 Elm Street, where Edward Dana grew up.

Even those who lived outside the village center and were from less privileged backgrounds—such as Charles Morris Cobb, who resided on a small farm about four miles west of town—found similar delight in the sport. In his journal entry of September 10, 1851, Cobb wrote:

“I am cussed sleepy. Hiram, Dodge, Geo Grow and I went to Round Pond in Ludlow a-fishing yesterday morning and got back at 6 1/2 this morning. Nobody except Dodge caught a single thing, & he only 3 eels and 2 horned [cocks] pouts. I almost lament that we hadn't staid [sic] all day today and redeemed our credit for we might have caught a lot.”

Horned Pout (also known as a brown bullhead). Note: This image is the work of the United States Great Lakes Environmental Research Laboratory, and it was made as part of that person’s official duties. As a work of the U.S. federal government, the image is in the public domain in the United States.

Yet even Cobb seemed to suspect his lack of success was not merely a matter of time or effort. In another entry, he reflected:

“I went a-fishing with Owen Raymond under the vain delusion that I could catch some fish. We fished from Henry's to Leach's, and he caught four and I one—but I threw four others out of water, to distances varying from two inches to three feet. I never caught but three trouts before in my life… I am convinced that there is something about fishing that I am not aware of.”

Fishing was far from a boyish pastime alone. Cobb also documented the recreational habits of hired farmhands, noting, for instance, that one worker—despite being afflicted by poison ivy—helped another bring in hay while two others, Lute and Owen, went fishing. Another man, Hiram, though reportedly ill, managed to ride off to Bridgewater “a-fishing or something” with a friend and returned home in the rain.

The nostalgic pull of fishing lingered well into adulthood for many. In 1924, Woodstock resident Karl A. Pember—who had been one of the well-to-do village boys and a friend of Edward Dana’s older brothers—penned a reflective poem titled The Fisherman’s Riddle. In it, he contrasts the sophisticated gear and attire of modern sport fishing with memories of his youth, when he and his friends spent hours catching little more than suckers with basic poles and hooks.

He concludes the poem with the lines:

“Come, some of you disciples of Isaak Walton’s lore

And help decide the case between today and days of yore.
Is the greatest satisfaction in our present form and show
Or was it when we caught a mess of suckers long ago?”

The tone suggests that the poet believes the true joy lay not in the quantity or quality of the catch, but in the camaraderie, simplicity, and immersion in nature.

Although the cultural significance of fishing persisted, over time its practical realities began to shift. By the late 1800s, concerns were growing over declines in the fish population in the region. Case in point, Daniel Ransom, whose father arrived in what is now South Woodstock in 1781, indicated in his memoir that the brook that ran through his family’s land all the way to the Quechee River in the Village of Woodstock was full of the red speckled trout when his family first settled in the area, “and a ‘fry’ could be had at short notice - could be caught from the back door of the houses. Alas: Now (1894), there is scarcely a trout in it.”

A full-page article, published May 1, 1914, in The Elm Tree Monthly and Spirit of the Age echos Daniel Ransom’s observation about the degradation of local fishing conditions stating “The good old fishing days are past,” adding “unless one has a share in a prosperous preserve the chances of getting a respectable string of trout in a day’s march or ride are very remote.”

This article in The Elm Tree Monthly did more than simply identify the problem; it also suggested possible causes. It noted that while tourism brought economic benefits, it also placed enormous pressure on natural resources. The trout and other edible fish species that locals had long depended on had become increasingly scarce as visiting sportsmen engaged in fishing for recreation.

The article also cited environmental degradation—both natural and human-caused—as contributing factors. Dry spells had killed off fish, while indiscriminate deforestation had altered stream flow. These concerns echoed the observations of George Perkins Marsh, a Woodstock native and pioneering environmentalist, in his influential 1864 book Man and Nature.

Above: Victorian-style Woodstock Inn actively promoted fishing and other outdoor recreational activities to bolster the number of guests staying at the Inn.

Perhaps the most contentious issue, however, was the increasing practice of landowners posting their property to prohibit public access to fishing. That issue had not resolved itself even by the 1950s. Artist/writer Mark O’Dea candidly acknowledged the trend in a promotional piece that he wrote entitled “An Adventure in Contentment” that was circulated by the Woodstock Inn in 1952. O’Dea states with regard to Woodstock’s wildlife resources:

“Hunting? Excellent. Unsurpassed deer hunting. Fine game bird shooting.
Fishing? Not so good for the general public because too many streams are posted. But the Inn provides arrangements and permits for guests.”

One avid local fisherman expressed frustration that it was difficult to “find a bit of unposted water large enough to hold a hook.” Ironically, the article noted, this same fisherman often returned with a full basket of trout. While outsiders might have viewed him as contributing to the problem, it’s unlikely he saw it that way.

The rise in posted land meant that only those with property—or those wealthy enough to stay at elite lodgings like the Woodstock Inn—retained regular access to viable fishing. This limited recreational fishing opportunities for the general public, even as interest remained high.

Yet, even with fewer fish to catch, many locals continued to cast their lines—perhaps because, as boys like Cobb and Dana had already discovered, the true reward was not necessarily the fish itself, but the quiet joy of time spent outdoors and in good company.

For the affluent, diminished public access merely prompted the formation of exclusive sportsmen’s clubs such as Lakota, Meccawe, and Grey Camp. These private enclaves ensured that members could continue to enjoy the sport—and return home with trophies that underscored their social standing, their access to leisure activities, and presumably their skill at fishing.

Interested in further reading on this topic? Below is one of the articles used as a reference for this piece. It was published in the Elm Tree Monthly and Spirt of the Age May 1, 1914.