FKiHTING A TARPON IN THE BREAKERS. 



BY JOHX A SEA. 



Yes, t feel that I must again talk 

 with you about the experience of the 

 afternoon of October 3d, which comes 

 most frequently and vividly to my 

 memory. I live over and over ag'ain 

 the excitement of that fight. I started 

 about three o'clock for tarpon. Johnnie 

 Holmes was my boatman, than whom, 

 I wish no better. In less than twenty 

 minutes after we reached the north 

 side of the Pass, I had two tarpon 

 strikes, had sent two big fellows into 

 the air, and was hooked to the third 

 one. Having landed two tarpon on 

 my first day out (Oct. 2nd), I had 

 begun to think myself ' ' a considerable 

 sort of a fellow." This fish seemed to 

 know it and to be determined to take 

 some of the conceit out of me. Leap 

 after leap into the air, his silver armor 

 gleaming, a hurried reeling in of line, 

 only to have it again taken out with a 

 mad rush ; all this and more, but that 

 part of a tarpon fight has been told 

 over and over again, so I shall only 

 recall the part of this contest I have 

 never seen described. 



Slowly, steadily, he works with the 

 ebb tide rushing through the Pass. 

 The wind is against him but he goes 

 with the tide gulfward. The breakers 

 roll and fall with heavy thuds at the 

 mouth of the pass, but he seems deter- 

 mined to go through them. Foot by 

 foot, inch by inch, we fight over the 

 water. Hands and arms ache but he 



[*This article is an excerpt from a private letter to 

 the Editor, who passed the month of October of this 

 year at Aransas Pass (Tarpon, Tex.), and while there 

 witnessed from the beach, the contest described by 

 Mr. Sea, an experience broadly exceptional in its 

 excitement and success. — Ed. | 



cannot be stopped. Johnnie, the boat- 

 man, guides the boat skillfully and to 

 my remark that the fish is on his way 

 to Cuba, replies, "We will go with 

 him." No cowardly boast, when you 

 look seaward and see the height of the 

 waves rolling in. 



The entire channel is passed and we 

 are in the Gulf. Here begins new 

 excitement. The high green waves 

 with their white crests must be passed 

 through and that fish conquered. 

 Every nerve is tingling. The blood 

 is flying through the veins. We are in 

 the breakers. I see my fish gleaming 

 in silver high above me, as we sink 

 into the hollow of the wave, which 

 rolls on and a bluish green wall is 

 between us, through which the line 

 hums and cuts with a sharp hiss. 

 Then we ride upon the wave's crest 

 and see our antagonist siirging through 

 the water fifty yards away and below. 

 Wave after wave is mounted and we 

 are well outside, and now we bend to 

 our oars, striving to regain the quiet 

 waters of the Pass. The tarpon, too, 

 changing his mind, starts with a rush 

 shoreward. So quickly does he move 

 that we cannot get our boat around in 

 proper position and the crest of a big 

 wave breaks over us. John is skillful 

 and strong and w-e are soon in control 

 of boat and line. We get back into 

 quiet water. We think we are now 

 fairly certain of victory, when he again 

 leaps into the air, shakes himself 

 magnificently, and as soon as he 

 strikes the water starts seaward. 

 Again we are in the breakers. The 

 reel whizzes as he darts away and with 



