FISHING IN TEXAS. 



A bright August morning, with a 

 soft Gulf breeze rippling the clear 

 water. An unused railway trestle 

 spanning a narrow channel. Four gay 

 fishermen, with plenty of bait. A 

 goodly school of redfish or channel 

 bass in a biting mood beneath. What 

 more could we ask ? Yet we were not 

 satisfied. The perch were plentiful, 

 and as adept as usual in stealing bait. 

 Already we had thirty-one spotted fish 

 on the string, so when John McShirley 

 drew out his bare hook and for the 

 fourth time impaled thereon a fat, 

 wriggling, little porgy, only to make 

 food for the ravenous little pests, this 

 discontent broke forth in words : 



"Boys, let's go to Cedar bayou, and 

 do some real fishing." 



That settled us. We quickly reeled 

 up our lines and clambered into the 

 hard boiled eggs and, headed for the 

 pavilion. 



The lola was ready, so that all we 

 had to do was to notify Fermin and 

 pack up our duds ready to start the next 

 morning. The "we" included Will 



B , tender of the jib on our last 



cruise; Frank, his brother; John Mc- 

 Shirley (Mac, for short), and the writer. 



Cedar bayou is located at the north- 

 em end of St. Joseph's Island, sepa- 

 rating it from Matagorda Island. It is 

 a pass similar to Corpus Christi, but 

 about eighty miles further north. 



The next morning, escorted by the 

 usual small boy, we all made our way 

 to the pavilion, and took the cat-boat 

 for the lola'sj moorings, which were 

 soon reached. Everything went well, 

 and we made an auspicious start, a 

 light, beam wind sending the lola up 



the narrow channel at a good rate of 

 speed. As we turned, at the end of the 

 embankment, and headed for Shell 

 Banks, looking back we could see the 

 white sails of two excursion boats, 

 bound for the pass, following us. Fer- 

 min carefully examined the sky, looked 

 at the sails, and then remarked : 



' ' Too bad ; no more wind until after- 

 noon. Them boats don't get to the 

 pass to-day! " 



This prediction gave us some un- 

 easiness, especially as the light wind 

 had shifted and was getting almost 

 dead ahead. However, we reached 

 Shell Banks, a cosy little island at the 

 head of Aransas Bay, rounded it, and 

 pointed our bows at some point so far 

 away over the blue waters of the bay 

 that we could not see it. 



Alas and alack! Fermin's prediction 

 was too true. The wind began to fall, 

 and soon died away entirely. We were 

 fortunate in having got out into the 

 bay before the wind failed, for, looking 

 back, we could see the tide carrying 

 the boats behind us back the way they 

 had come. 



O, but it was hot ; the hottest day I 

 ever experienced on the Texas coast. 

 For two hours the sun poured down 

 upon us as we sweltered on the deck, 

 and not a single flutter of the sails 

 broke the monotony of the calm. We 

 improved the opportunity to get our 

 dinner, and the heat did not in the least 

 affect our appetites. The dishes were 

 washed and stowed away before there 

 was a change. The boats over in the 

 channel were now almost out of sight, 

 for, while they had drifted back, we 

 had drifted on our course. We were 



