302 



The Anicrican Angler. 



crab. Let us walk out on the jetties a 

 little way to find a fishing place. Here 

 is where the river ends and the sea 

 begins. 



Let your eye play over that scene, 

 where man's work struggles with 

 nature's for supremacy. To the right 

 the ocean, to the left the river. In the 

 background the white beach and the 

 whiter surf, while the grey stone wall 

 which divides the salt water from the 

 fresh, serves to emphasize the ceaseless, 

 restless roar of those foaming waters 

 which it separates from the gentle 

 ripples of our river. To the right 

 green water, to the left brown. Those 

 waves come curling around from the 

 capes of Florida and the reefs of 

 Yucatan. These brown waters fell in 

 crystal rain drops on yonder mountains 

 that form our western horizon, rolling 

 through deep and gloomy caiions, over 

 precipices, under mighty trees, past 

 plantations of cane, orchards of or- 

 anges, forests of palm, by Indian 

 villages, until, at last, this rocky dyke 

 alone separates them from their final 

 home, the sea. 



Here we will fish. There is a current 

 from the north that sweeps along the 

 coast, and when it strikes the jetties 

 curves out into the sea, making an 

 eddy. A few yards beyond the surf, 

 where the waves roll but do not 

 break, is the place to throw your line. 

 To suit all piscatorial tastes, bait one 

 hook with a piece of fish and the other 

 with two fresh shrimp. Now, with a 

 swing of the sinker, throw the line 

 about forty yards into the eddy. If 

 that school of sharks will keep away we 

 won't have long to wait for a bite. 

 Uncoil about fifty yards of line, and 

 have some slack in case we hook some- 

 thing large and have to play with him. 

 This surf fishing is worse than buying 



lottery tickets. The last time I tried 

 my luck here, my first catch was a toad 

 fish of about six ounces, and then I had 

 my line broken four times in succession 

 by fish too large for it, and finally 

 caught a curel that weighed about forty 

 pounds,' and after that six or seven 

 yellow grunting perch in as many 

 minutes. We'll run three lines, and 

 I'll cut bait and be the general mentor 

 of the party. Two Imes in the sea and 

 one in the river. Now, with a gentle 

 swing, let her go; that's good. Coil 

 the slack on that flat rock and, with 

 patient expectation, await the issue. 

 Our railroad man has got a bite I take 

 it, and a big one, too. Don't try to 

 hold the line. How the ridged cord 

 cuts the water. Pull him in a little. 

 There he goes again. That was a 

 pretty leap, but it was his last. He's 

 tired now, bring him in. A twenty 

 pound robalo. And now the Judge is 

 struggling with a monster, but he is 

 out of luck. His line is snarled and 

 caught around a rock and will be 

 broken with the next rush. Now he 

 is gone Judge, with hooks, sinkers and 

 all. Don't mourn his loss. Be a phil- 

 osophic if not a scientific angler. But 

 it is an aggravation when the victim 

 marked for sacrifice bids us adieu after 

 showing his fan-like tail and burly 

 shoulders above the water that we may 

 know what we have lost. However, 

 there are a few rfiore of the same sort 

 in the gulf. Excuse me. Kid, but let 

 me throw your line out for you, other- 

 wise the ampler portion of your nether 

 garments are in danger of being 

 hooked. You haven't "got on to this" 

 sling shot fishing yet. What is the 

 matter Kid ? Have you got something? 

 "Yes sir, it pulls hard, but don't swim 

 fast. It just came to the top of the 

 water, and looked like a big mouse 



