Fort M yers 
time to swallow the hook, you strike (or, as 
the local people term it, “snub him ””), to fix 
the hook firmly. Then the fun begins, for 
that tarpon, on the instant he feels the hook, 
jumps clean out of the water six or seven fect 
into the air, shakes his head, turns somersaults, 
and behaves generally as though he were mad. 
The boatman, meanwhile, has thrown over- 
board his small buoy that marks where the 
anchor is left, and paddles cautiously after the 
flying fish. The excitement is great, and the 
exertion required is downright back - breaking 
hard work. A good fish will jump twenty or 
more times, taking the line from the reel in 
rushes of one hundred yards at a time, finally 
jumping into the air. This, too, although you 
are putting every pound of strain on the rod 
and thumb-brake that you can possibly exert. 
At length, perhaps after thirty minutes’ frantic 
efforts on both sides, the fish can be towed near 
enough to the boat to allow the galf to be used. 
This has to be stuck into his gills, for it is im- 
possible to drive the point of the gaff, however 
large, sharp, and strong it may be, through 
those thick scales of his. At length you have 
him; the end of a rope is passed through his 
mouth and gills, and he is made fast to the stern 
of the boat, to be eventually towed to wherever 
you are living, and then weighed. If you are 
staying in a hotel, it is the custom to present one 
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