Tonight is a bad night to be out in the wild. A blizzard, as bad and worse as any yet this year, struck earlier in the day, and continues to strike even now. The poor weather caught me as I made my way towards the Brandywine, and I was forced to take shelter in Buckland, which I can't say I'm too upset over, since Buckland is a very nice place.
The visit does call to mind an old tale my father told me from his youth, when he was still an apprentice stonemason. He was an active fisherman in those days, as he was all his life, and often he (along with a small crew of like-minded gentlemen) would often find himself putting off his work to go out to the lakes surrounding Combe and Bree and fish for a few hours too long. His master wouldn't have been very happy about this if my father hadn't been such a hard worker when he actually was around.
There was a hobbit in Staddle named Ferumbras Attereeve who envied my father's skill in fishing, and at every possible chance tried to best him. A friendly rivalry, though perhaps less friendly on the side of Mr. Attereeve, developed, and often the two could be found in a battle of fishing or wits, and invariably my father would come out on top. Of course, Mr. Attereeve was none to pleased with this, and as they competed more and more, the hobbit hated my father more and more.
On one fateful night, my father and his two closest friends - Mr. Sorrel and Mr. Catchpole - were drinking and dining in the Comb and Wattle after a long day of fishing when Mr. Attereeve showed up with a folded leaf of paper in his hand. It was an invitation to a formal fishing competition taking place in Buckland on the Brandywine River. The first person to catch all nine varieties of trout (which were, at that time of year, passing upstream to Lake Evendim) would be officially deemed "The Trout-master" in all official records in Buckland. Mr. Attereeve, being a distant relation of the Brandybuck family and known for his love of fishing, was invited, and was sent an extra invitation to bring a friend of his along.
But, of course, Mr. Attereeve didn't have many friends, and those he had didn't fish. So Mr. Attereeve settled for the next best thing: a chance to show up his rival once and for all.
My father accepted the invitation joyously, since he was always looking for another chance to show up his rival as well. And, of course, if either of the two of them won the competition, it would be him, since he was the superior fisherman.
As the week of the competition neared, Mr. Attereeve found my father at his workplace and informed him that he would be leaving early, to spend time with family in Buckland. He told my father some of the specifics of the event, and particularly stressed that he would not be permitted if he did not possess the invitation that he was given.
A few days later my father set out with Mr. Sorrel and Mr. Catchpole, who helped him carry all of his fishing things in twice as many bags as was usually necessary. Somewhere in there was his invitation, since he had put it away almost as soon as he got it. The trio walked along the Great East Road until they reached Buckland, but they found the gate closed, with two bounders standing ready in front of it.
"No men may pass today! Be gone or we'll stick you!" one of the bounders exclaimed as his shook his spear, but the threat was met only with laughter.
"What are you on about? We're here for the fishing competition!" my father said as his chuckling subsided. "Roger, show him the invitation." Mr. Sorrel searched for a while in the bag he was carrying, but found nothing. Then Mr. Catchpole took his turn in searching, but likewise to no avail. "Ferumbras Attereeve passed this way, right? He invited me. Call him here and he'll confirm everything."
"Passed this way he did! And as soon as he got here he warned us bounders about three men matching your exact description who had tried to rob him, and would surely be arriving around this time to finish the job!"
Suddenly Mr. Attereeve's evil plot became abundantly evident. He had invited my father only to humiliate him. He had stolen the invitation and had the bounders guard the entrance; there was now no way for my father to be the Trout-master, and if Mr. Attereeve ended up winning the competition, despite his dirty tricks, it would be an officially recognized victory over my father.
Deciding not to argue with the bounders further, my father and his friends instead followed the Brandywine northwards, and fished along its bank north of the road. This was my dad's favorite part of the story, and he would always spend a lot of time on it, but it's not actually that interesting, so I won't dwell on it. Just know that he was able to catch all nine varieties of trout in a surprisingly short amount of time.
With a bucket full of dead fish, my father and his friends arrived back at where the bounders still stood guard. Amazed, the bounders escorted the men to the location of the competition, where a few dozen hobbits were still trying to catch the trout. Among them was Mr. Attereeve, whose mood immediately soured at the sight of his bitter rival. Rorimac Brandybuck, who was officiating the competition, greeted the men and looked over the fish. He told them that, if they had an invitation, they would be declared the winners.
My father pointed to Mr. Attereeve in the crowd and declared, "My invitation, I believe, is in his possession!" The crowd turned to Mr. Attereeve and all at once demanded to see the second invitation he carried, which he reluctantly drew out of his coat pocket. And so Rorimac Brandybuck declared my father "The Trout-master", and so his name was recorded in the official books of Brandy Hall, and he returned to Bree in victory (he brought all the trouts with him, and turned them into a trophy), and Mr. Attereeve in shame. It wasn't the last time Mr. Attereeve tried to outwit my dad, but it was perhaps the most humiliating for him, as he was suddenly exposed to all of his Brandybuck cousins.
Buckland has changed little over the years. Rorimac has been succeeded by Saradoc, but little else has happened there. Although I suppose that's the way of hobbits. In any case, it's comforting when out in the wilderness to know that there are places like Buckland to always expect kind hospitality - which I'm currently benefiting from, due to the weather.
