140 THE SALT OF MY LIFE 



above the hook. When the boat has been paddled, 

 with as little fuss as possible, to some favourite 

 spot close to the rocks, it is moored at either end 

 by one who knows the locality, so that the baited 

 hooks wil] lie just at the edge of a grassy mead 

 where big bream lie and feed throughout the day. 

 A little preliminary berley having been flung 

 around as a genera] invitation, each hook is baited 

 with a peeled prawn so that it shall be as far as 

 possible hidden within that semi-transparent enve- 

 lope. The line, of finest silk twist, is now uncoiled 

 from its cork, and when sufficient lies on the seat, 

 the hook, with a scrap of lead pinched on the gut 

 to give it way, is swung as far out as required. It 

 is then allowed to sink to the bottom, and the 

 slack is gathered in, after which a keen bream- 

 fisherman would no more Jet go of it than of his 

 hope of salvation. For choice, he would hold on 

 to the line. It is even said that the cracks (not 

 cranks) mortify the top of the forefinger with 

 pumice in order to increase its sensibility, for 

 the first overture of the bream is generally of 

 the slightest, barely preceptible by anyone 

 unaccustomed to the faint quiver of the line. 



Readily as I recognised the futility of rods out 

 on the schnapper ground, I thought then, and 

 think still, that a roach-rod would be most appro- 

 priate to the capture of black bream. Lines, 

 however, were the rule. It may be that in that 



