MEMORIES OF MAHSEER 



taking a cast from the shore. The theory held good in practice, 

 for, sure enough, next moment I had him, and then came a 

 splendid fight. It was a strenuous dance he led me up and 

 down the bank for thirty-five glorious if anxious minutes. 

 Happily, the channel was clear, and there was little or no danger 

 from rapid or snag, yet, with such a heavy fish in play, no minute 

 was free from anxiety, and every mad rush seemed to mark 

 the end. When at last the fish took to rolling over and over 

 far out in the stream, it seemed impossible that the gut could 

 bear the strain, and, as a matter of fact, my misgivings on the 

 subject proved well-founded, for, as I afterwards discovered, 

 the gut was actually severed and disaster had been averted 

 only by its having jammed so tightly between the treble hooks 

 as to hold the great fish in its final struggles. It was a good 

 thing that I was spared this knowledge until the fish was safe 

 on the bank, else I might not have had the courage to go through 

 with it. Three more, all of them good fish, we got out of that 

 reach, and the luck was such as to carry us through many 

 another less successful day. 



These were great times no doubt, yet I wonder whether, 

 after all, the simpler incidents much earlier in my Indian days 

 were not even happier ! There was the far-off time, for in- 

 stance, when, under the spell of my first introduction to mah- 

 seer, I would gallop out a good nine miles on a hot weather 

 morning, starting at 3 a.m. so as to be on the water an hour 

 or so before sunrise. The ignoble bait used on these occasions 

 was nothing more than a pellet of dough, and the one pool 

 had to be assiduously groundbaited for days before my visit. 



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