Fish Stories 



by 

 Henry Abbott 



BIGE had the oars and was gently 

 and without a splash dipping 

 them into the water, while the 

 boat slowly glided along parallel to the 

 shore of the lake. We had been up 

 around the big island and were crossing 

 the bay at the mouth of Bald Mountain 

 Brook, which is the outlet of the pond 

 of that name, located in a bowl shaped 

 pocket on the shoulder of Bald Mountain 

 three miles away. I was in the stern 

 seat of the boat with a rod and was cast- 

 ing toward the shore, hoping to lure the 

 wily bass from his hiding place under 

 rocky ledge or lily pad, when I dis- 

 covered another and a rival fisherman. 



He was operating with an aeroplane 

 directly over our heads and about two 



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