The Kejimkujik Monster 



and now quiet fish along the after thwart of the canoe, 

 and he just reached from rail to rail. By doubling him 

 up in a half-circle, I put him in the pack-basket creel, 

 ostensibly his last resting-place — but one. Reeling up 

 my slack line and making my tackle snug, I took hold of 

 the kellick rope, which passed through a pulley on the bow 

 of the canoe and aft to a cleat on the thwart just ahead 

 of the stern seat, and tried to pull it up so that we could 

 go ashore and have our delayed lunch. The kellick, which 

 was a five-prong grab-hook, was snagged and would not 

 come up. After trying to dislodge it by all the conserva- 

 tive and traditional methods, my partner in this plot 

 against our finny antagonist made the fatal error (I regret 

 to say at my direction) of moving up into the bow of the 

 canoe to take the anchor rope in her hands. The current 

 was very swift. This action of hers made the canoe bow- 

 heavy, and it immediately began to switch back and forth 

 with darts of increasing length while she was tugging 

 frantically at the obstinate hook. I did my best to hold 

 the craft steady and pointed upstream. The next instant 

 it gave a lurch, and we both leaned to the high side. At 

 once this was the low side — so low that the water poured 

 over the gunwale. We swamped and tipped over. Assur- 

 ing my breathless and spouting partner that there was no 

 danger, a few strokes brought us to shallow water. With 

 the lady safe, and some of the water out of our eyes, we 

 spotted the creel floating downstream, half submerged 

 but upright. 



" The fish !" we both exclaimed, horror-struck. 



Unsheathing my hunting-knife, I made for the canoe. 

 Cutting the entangled anchor rope and towing it ashore 

 was the work of a moment. Rod and dip-net with one 

 of the paddles were caught under the thwarts. The 

 camera was gone. I had dumped the water out of the 

 craft, jumped in, and was paddling furiously after the 



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