FLY-FISHING FOR GREAT PIKE 



awkwardly from the water, seldom, if ever, clearing 

 it, but managing somehow to fall upon the line three 

 times out of five unless the angler be learned in the 

 fish's ways and more than a tyro with fly tackle. 

 That a five-, ten-, or fifteen-pound fish falling upon a 

 line will work havoc with the best of tackle, no rodster 

 needs be told. The leap of a twenty- or thirty-pound 

 fish, especially if near the boat, is something to wit- 

 ness and dream about when angling days are over. 



Believing, perhaps, that he could play the trick, or 

 leaping, maybe, in an excess of terror, my capture 

 reared — I do not know how better to express it — and, 

 I honestly believe, tumbled over backward! But failing 

 to fall upon the taut line, the tactic availed him noth- 

 ing. Again he was away for the weeds, but a steady 

 strain discouraging, he gave up, went to the bottom 

 and sulked. But I would none of that, stirring him 

 up with strength of line and rod alone. Again on the 

 surface, he wallowed like a bathing elephant. But 

 manifestly he was weakening, and I was glad of it, for 

 arm and eye were weary. The first time I brought him 

 alongside, the sight of the boat sent him scurrying 

 away with a sudden access of strength; but I only 

 bided my time, for I knew it could not endure. Again 

 I brought him in, and again he turned away in spite 

 of me. I realized the end was near, transferred the 

 rod to my left hand, placed the 22 pistol within easy 

 reach, and reeled him in. A single shot between 

 wicked, malevolent eyes, a moil of blood-flecked water, 

 and I plunged home the gaff. 



I have learned from much canoe fishing that it is 

 never the part of wisdom to lift, or attempt to lift, such 

 a fish into the boat when alone, if it can be avoided. So 



93 



