POLLACK AND PILCHARDS 101 



the little coils off the reel, when, hey presto ! off 

 flies the Kne in yards, down bores the pollack- 

 steady ! At low tide there are many fathoms less 

 water here, and this plunger must not be allowed 

 to fray the line among the sharp rocks. A strain 

 is therefore put on the stout rod, the headlong rush 

 is stayed, and the broad barrel of the winch is 

 even forced a few turns in the opposite direction. 

 But such a fish is too strong to lose heart so easily, 

 and away it flies again, running out if anything 

 more line than at the first dash for freedom. And 

 now the reel on the other rod is singing a good 

 second ; and George, too, is holding on to a tanned 

 line, that strains up forward over the gunwale. 

 We are among the pollack with a vengeance, and 

 must make hay while the sun shines. George 

 has the pull over us, of course, since he fishes for 

 fish, not for sport ; and without a pause he hauls 

 an eight-pounder to the surface, and, crooking his 

 forearm round its gleaming sides, lifts it into the 

 boat and leaves it on the hook. Then he runs to 

 my assistance with the short-handled gaff, for 

 my own fish is so near that I can see its dark back 

 looming three or four fathoms down. A last rush, 

 however, inspired perhaps by the dazzle of sun- 

 light, takes it once more out of sight, and George 

 has even time, before I am ready for his good 

 offices, to gaff another of six or eight pounds on 

 the other rod. Then at length my own is brought 



