162 CASTING TACKLE AND METHODS 



white and menacing bones protruding from the 

 shores "like quills upon the fretful porcupine." I 

 could just manage to get around their ends without 

 going in over the tops of my waders. No bass en- 

 thusiast need be told that those cedar tops and 

 sunken logs were appreciated by the bronze-backs. 

 It was good fishing, also problematical fishing: every 

 other bass snagged. Well, at the end of a particu- 

 larly bad top I had a vicious rise, the bass knocking 

 the floating lure high in the air. I cast a couple of 

 times without result, then backed up and made my 

 way around on shore. Perhaps an hour afterward I 

 returned to the spot, waded quietly out to within 

 casting distance and sent my lure hurtling through 

 the air. It struck just where I wanted it to- with a 

 resounding splash. Again Mr. Bass rose, calculated 

 the distance just right, and was on. Out into the 

 lake he went, ripping the line through the water in 

 a way to gratify my heart; turning, he came back 

 with all the speed of an ice boat in a quartering 

 wind. Then the unexpected and inexplicable hap- 

 pened; I lost control of the reel, my thumb played 

 me false and my fish was under the white bones of a 

 cedar. I could see him plainly, and realized that he 

 was what I suspected, the record fish of the day. I 

 desired him badly because I knew there was about as 

 much chance for a rich man to enter Heaven as there 

 was for him to enter my gaping creel. I tugged on 

 the line but the fish would not stir. "Hooks solid in 



