194 THE SALT OF MY LIFE 



once more. No ; it preferred to throw its cautious 

 tactics to the winds and to fight to a finish there 

 could be only one with such tackle in open water. 



Next morning, a still heavier fish was hooked 

 closer to the bridge and was played almost to 

 exhaustion. Yet it looked as if at the eleventh 

 hour fate were going to intercede, for a great clump 

 of weed, which could not by any possibility pass 

 the top ring of the rod, seemed to be stuck fast on 

 the line about fifteen or twenty feet above the fish. 

 What was to be done ? To handline so heavy a 

 bass, even one to all appearance tired of life, on 

 gear so light would be a highly dangerous alterna- 

 tive. In despair I told Cox to run the boat on the 

 bank, intending, if the weed did not shift, to retreat 

 from the waterside until the fish was brought 

 within reach of the net. Yet the fish itself saved 

 the situation, for, before I had time to carry this 

 plan into execution, it made a final desperate 

 effort to shake out the hook and in so doing 

 loosened the hold of the weed, which, to my great 

 relief and the final undoing of the bass, went slid- 

 ing down the line and thus enabled me to reel the 

 fish up to the side of the boat. 



Weed is the great nuisance at Teignmouth, as 

 indeed in most estuaries where there are salmon 

 nets through the summer to tear it from the 

 bottom and leave it piled high and dry in the sun 

 for the next rising tide to float upstream. There 



