FOREST, LAKE, AND RIVER 



eventually the one best trained makes the best show- 

 ing. A fit candidate for the piscatorial insane asylum 

 is the ouananiche who feels the prick of the angler's 

 hook and fails to shake it loose. Every contortion 

 known to the high and lofty class in tumbling is 

 practised. Almost as much out of the water as in, 

 it would be, perhaps, less difficult to describe what 

 they do not do. 



With the first prick of the hook, our fish is out 

 of water, and well out, — two or three feet, — fall- 

 ing back with a splash. His next rush is deep 

 down, jerking at the line as does the bull-dog 

 with his stick. Not succeeding in securing free- 

 dom from the hook, a rush to and fro is made, 

 followed by another leap. Now comes a run 

 down stream that only an automatic reel with in- 

 creasing tension safely checks. The drag on an 

 ordinary reel is useless, and permits the fish to run 

 into rough water, take out all the line, or so much 

 that, should he run back, the slack cannot possibly 

 be reeled in quickly enough. While the auto- 

 matic checks a run, it also gathers slack, no matter 

 how rapidly given. Another jump, another dive 

 down, another run marks the continuance of the 

 struggle. Enhancing the sport is the anxiety of 

 the angler, fearing the loss of his fish after the 

 hard fight. In the mean time the wrist begins to 



82 



