ON A STORM-SWEPT PIKE POOL 249 



swirl and dashed off for the middle, making the reel 

 scream. There was an instant when the line was not 

 so tight as it ought to have been, and then the bait 

 came home alone. It was very sad, but it was my own 

 fault. I struck too soon, and gave a fraction of slack 

 line as well, so he was almost bound to get off. 



After this great misfortune the day seemed destined 

 to be a blank, and we whiled away the time by abusing 

 the rain and discussing the monster's probable weight. 

 The keeper, who has gaffed many a big fish in his time, 

 estimated him at twenty-five pounds at the least. I 

 should not be surprised to learn that he was thirty 

 pounds, for he was a great length. I tried spinning 

 by way of a change after lunch, but moved nothing, and 

 lost two traces on some immovable object at the 

 bottom. About half-past three we took to the boat for 

 a last half-hour, in case the big one should be inclined 

 to come again. The rain was coming down in earnest, 

 and I had just about given up all hope when suddenly 

 the cork went under and the reel screamed. There was 

 no doubt about the fish being well hooked this time, 

 and after a few brisk runs the keeper got the gaff 

 smartly into a handsome fish of thirteen pounds. This 

 was consoling, and I was now satisfied with my sport. 

 It is always a joy to retrieve one's blank when it seems 

 hopeless. And there was more to come. I cast out 

 again considerably to the right of where the fish had 

 taken, and almost at once had another run. When the 

 line tightened on him the fish came quietly towards the 

 boat for some yards, and then let go. " Leave it there," 

 said C., as I was about to wind in and inspect the 

 damage. His advice was sound, and almost as he 



