OH, SHOOT! 



We had in mind a mineral deposit across the 

 gulf, so thither we betook ourselves, hanging 

 like gorillas to such hooks and bolts and pro- 

 jections inside the yacht as had not been 

 pulled off on the way down. It was an all- 

 night run through a cross sea, but, despite 

 our crazy compass, Salisbury hit our desti- 

 nation smack in the eye, and we hurriedly 

 got out our fishing tackle to commence pros- 

 pecting. 



Fishermen thrive upon disappointments. 

 A sportsman will travel thousands of miles to 

 reach ideal fishing or hunting grounds; then 

 the better the sport the fewer his thrills, and 

 the sooner he tires of it. Some of my best 

 trips have resulted in the least game, and so 

 with this Mexican expedition. Not that we 

 didn't catch fish we caught too many. That 

 was our trouble; we soon found there was no 

 dramatic suspense to the procedure. Wher- 

 ever there was a rocky shore, there the best 

 fish families of the neighborhood were lined up, 

 waiting for us. A rusty spoon was as tasty to 

 their palates as a brand-new nickel-plated 

 striker or a hand-painted minnow designed to 

 melt in the gills. 



It was March; the water was cold; hence 

 238 



