TARPON FISHING IN THE GULF OF MEXICO 505 



put the check, gave such a screech as I have never heard from 

 any reel before. He ran out some hundred and fifty yards of 

 reel, but as I drew up to him again he was obviously getting 

 tired. There is a mental process in angling which enables one 

 to know when one has at last gained mastery of one's fish, and 

 so it was with this shark. 



I got him to the top of the water again. He made a violent 

 struggle when he saw the boat, but this time my aim was truer, 

 and I put three shots through his nose. It is usual to cut loose 

 one's shark, and I should not have taken such trouble with 

 this one, but that I had given a good many of my hooks to 

 some brother anglers who had not come well provided, and I 

 was therefore really short of them. To Hart was accorded the 

 unpleasant task of disgorging this hook from the monster. 

 The creature's backbone with a wire down it has made an 

 excellent walking-stick, I may observe, and a portion of his 

 skin has been turned into pocket matchboxes. 



We had wandered completely out of our course. No tarpon 

 were known to be in the water near us, and we were think- 

 ing of returning; but, despite the bright sunshine, a change 

 had come over the weather, and I know of no part of the world 

 in which the weather alters more rapidly than in Southern 

 Florida. The wind was sighing in the mangrove trees, and, 

 though the sun shone as brightly as ever, the air grew strangely 

 chilly. By the time we had gone back the mile we had lost 

 Hart was despondent. There were no tarpon rising. All we 

 could see was a great porpoise, which rose within a few yards of 

 us, blowing as emphatically as a steam engine. 



' I am afraid we shall get no more sport to-day,' remarked 

 Hart. 



And he was right. We fished for another hour until the 

 storm had come upon us, and then we turned back to Marco. 



On our way we met a small sailing boat in which there were 



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