90 THE ANGLER'S GUIDE 



and tosses the gear adrift with the following piscatoral 

 admonition : 



"Thet hook's es sound an' sharp as a shark's tooth, an' 

 ef yer can't snake them bluefish with et , et's your own darned 

 clumsiness or th' fault o' thet springy whiplash thing yer 

 call a fishin' pole. Ef yer do hook one hef th' size o' this 

 genelmen's, yer wont git et in afore thet pole goes ker- 

 smash eny way; better take one o' them han'lines. The 

 tide's off now, so yer've lost yer chance any way, an' I'm 

 glad o' et; teh-morrow I hope yer'll rig up right an' git in 

 a fish er two." 



"But, Captain," I venture, "you said all this about all 

 the rods here, but Mr. Wilstach got his fish all right, didn't 

 he?" 



"Yes, he did, an' in a right smart manner, too, consider- 

 in' his reel kem off, an' I mus' say his pole's a s'prise teh 

 me, but yourn aint fit fer killies in the creek or them white 

 perch th' boys ketch in th' brackish water Lor' me, look 

 at him now ! Look at thet pole bend ! Sure yeh've hooked 

 him now, an' I'm agoin' up the riggin' afore the smash 

 comes genelmen, he's got a blue on there as 'ill scale twelve 

 poun' ef an ounce, or I'm a spider crab." 



The old Captain is right about the strike I surely have 

 fairly hooked my fish this time, but it's weight no man can 

 honestly judge so early in the play, as my rod is so light 

 that at times it bends gamely even by the mere pressure 

 of the tide on the line. 



But, my game is truly of fighting size and quality. I 

 know the danger of a slack line, and when the big fish 

 comes towards me faster than I can reel in the line I move 

 my rod away from him and walk briskly up the deck. 



I realize that the outfit does not include a gaff or any 

 landing-net beyond the homely crab-net which is too small 

 to put over a big fish. Wilstach lifts his fish in free of the 

 light leader, taking hold of the game by its gills. I have 

 forgotten my gaff and decent landing net, and the Captain 

 is now hurriedly making a gaff by bending and filing a 

 great shark hook that is inserted in one end of a mop stick. 



My green-stained linen line is of the calibre of a tiny 

 mountain trout silk line, but it holds the big bluefish 

 securely. I am careful not to allow an inch of slack, well 

 knowing the ocean tiger's trait of swimming up swiftly 

 and biting the line apart as a razor would sever a thread. 

 Such was the case last summer when I had my first lessons 

 in this still fishing for bluefish. 



Piano wire is usually employed as a snell in any sort of 

 bluefish fishing, but I am not afraid of the fish chewing 

 apart my silk gut snell and leader, if they are well water- 

 soaked and fairly in hand as in the case of this particular 

 fish. 



My captive has the barb in his upper lip, his mouth is 

 firmly closed, and he is fighting without the slightest 

 injury or pain, and therefore enjoying the play as well as I. 



