A Day with the Buffalo Bass. 



Pulling this way and that and darting out of the water in ef- 

 forts to free himself, he gives his enemy little time in which to 

 anticipate his moves. But our angler is versed in these tactics, 

 and knows that if he ever allows his fish to gain the stump he 

 will lose him. So, placing the necessary strain on the rod, he 

 persistently forces the fight in the open water. His captive 

 begins to show signs of giving up and is gradually circled to- 

 ward the boat and brought to net. 



The boat is headed to the shore and our angler lands above 

 the mouth of "Wilson Creek" and following the stream north, 

 angling here and there, changing from minnow to crawfish, 

 from crawfish to spoon, he works the bends till luncheon hour. 



Seeking a cool place under the trees, he lies at full length 

 on the green sward, enjoying his repast in contentment and 

 meditation. 



The sun, now in the west, throws a shadow along the 

 western bank. As the afternoon advances, insects flutter un- 

 der the willows, and the bass, having found a new pleasure in 

 surface feeding, scorn the minnow and frog. The bait rod is 

 laid aside and our fisherman attaches a lure of feathers and 

 tinsel, works along back over his morning's course, and picks 

 up as many bass as he did on the morning trip up stream. 

 Then, as he rounds the last bend above the mill, throws out a 

 spoon, takes the paddle and pulls down the pond toward the 

 mill. The moon rising in the east throws a bright light on the 

 water and leaves a sparkling path of ripples behind the boat 

 as our fisherman paddles homeward, well satisfied with his day 

 and his string of fish. 



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