A merican Game-Fishes 



which is never forgotten, the straight-away 

 rush after it feels the hook. As he sees 

 score after score of yards of line disappear 

 from the reel in spite of all the pressure of 

 thumb that the rod will bear, the anxiety 

 of the angler is intense. Sometimes the 

 fish is turned (or rather he changes his 

 mind) only when the despairing fisherman 

 thinks he can count the remaining turns 

 on the 2oo-yard spool and sometimes 

 he does not change his mind at all. It is 

 rather remarkable that right within the 

 limits of New York City has been the 

 school, if one may so say, of bass-angling. 

 Hell Gate, with its ledges and eddies, was 

 an ideal place for the fish ; and the found- 

 ers of the great bass-clubs were largely 

 trained there. Of late years the constant 

 passing of steam and sailing craft, the pol- 

 lution of the waters by the sewage of a 

 metropolis, not to mention the senseless 

 and lawless taking of tiny fish, have im- 

 paired the fishing, so that fish of above 

 five pounds are rarities ; yet in one week 

 during the last summer, after a hard blow, 

 the East River trollers took a number of 

 larger fish. The surf fisherman fishes from 

 the shore, making long casts fifty yards 

 or more from the reel, or throwing the 

 hand-line with the skill born of practice. 

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