CHAPTER XIX 



Achill Pollack A Collision Irish Compliments A hopeless 



Tussle 



THE midday sun came down from an unclouded 

 sky and there would be little chance of sport unless 

 we sunk our lures to somewhere near the fish ; our 

 guide, knowing this, had wished to test our know- 

 ledge. The boldest biter and the toughest fighter 

 for his weight, as I claim the pollack to be, is very 

 shy when the sun is bright, so, if you would catch 

 him then, you must sink your bait to within a 

 foot of where he hides beneath the waving weeds 

 of sunken rocks. 



Five fathoms is a depth that needs a heavy lead, 

 even with the finest line, when the boat is rowed at 

 the needed pace to spin a rubber worm or any other 

 lure, so we changed our leads for the heaviest we 

 use viz. six ounces. Brian seemed pleased at this, 

 but a cloud came over his much-wrinkled face as he 

 stretched out his hand to take one of the thin blue 

 lines we had attached them to, and the shake he 

 gave his head betrayed a lack of confidence, as 

 also did his question : " What size fish will this be 

 houlding ? " Brian's ancient face, handsome yet in 

 spite of furrows, and its sorry-to-doubt expression, 

 made me say : 



" We will be very careful should we have the 

 luck to hook a big one." 



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