DAYS STOLEN FOR SPORT 233 



and concluded that there were patriarchs amongst 

 them almost as old and wonderful as Brian, who, 

 like him, still sought profit for their labours from 

 the sea. 



The morning's sport had been so varied by mis- 

 fortunes that I hoped it would make us more 

 careful of our doings ; the mere chance of such 

 happenings should do that, and their happening 

 cause us to become philosophical enough not to 

 feel the need of words that are said to frighten fish, 

 but hasten to put on fresh tackle. 



Two netsmen pushed us off and a chorus of 

 voices sang out : " More luck to yer honours." The 

 luck came to us while still in sight of them and 

 they watched the bending rod until it killed its fish. 

 This proved to be the only one inclined to taste what 

 we offered until we were leaving the bay to round 

 Moyteoge Head and there a strange thing hap- 

 pened. We had caught two and I was bringing 

 one of some twelve pounds to the gaff, at the sight 

 of which it made a feeble plunge just down out of 

 sight, and as I began to draw it up my winch spun 

 as never a winch of mine had spun before and for 

 such time that I had no hopes of its stopping while 

 there was any line left on it. The first 100 yards 

 were gone before I could call out " Back the 

 boat " ; at last, when nearly all was gone, the speed 

 lessened and then stopped. I was lifting my top 

 to learn my whereabouts when Brian's voice, in 

 quite a low key, said: "The divil, it's the grey- 

 headed beast," and he pointed towards a rock near 

 the shore, some 180 yards away judging by my 

 line, and there was my pollack held in the huge 

 beast's jaw by the middle of its belly. "Turn the 



