262 DAYS IN THE OPEN 



in two. Pushing it rapidly backwards through his 

 hands, he grasped the line and proceeded to haul 

 in hand over hand. Of course a number of things 

 might happen, any one of which would be a meas- 

 ureless calamity. But the line did not part, the 

 hook did not tear out, the heavens did not fall, 

 and when at last a noble bass was safely landed on 

 the bridge the boy let out a yell that might have 

 been heard in Syracuse. Five pounds, four ounces, 

 he weighed, and his relatives under the canal 

 bridge knew him no more for ever. 



The bass has countless vagaries, and one never 

 knows what he will do under given circumstances. 

 As a father and son were fishing for small-mouth 

 on the St. Lawrence, the senior hooked a fish which 

 broke the snood and went free. Now there is a 

 persistent tradition that, when a bass has been 

 pricked by the hook, he does not bite again until 

 the passing of twenty-four hours or such a matter 

 has served to wipe the experience from his mem- 

 ory. In less than an hour the boy caught a two- 

 pounder having in its jaws the identical snood 

 which the father had lost. The tradition was dis- 

 credited, unless we assume that the one caught had 

 envied the mouth ornament worn by the one 

 hooked earlier in the day, and, stealing it, had fixed 

 it in his own jaw. 



Bass fishing on the Bay of Quinte is famous 

 for its excellence. Not only is there abundance 



