116 BASS-FISHING IN SUNGAHNEETUK 



strain on him, but letting him take a little line off 

 the reel and piloting him clear of rocks and roots, 

 I follow him slowly to quieter waters below, 

 where we fight it out, and the land force is vic- 

 torious. With the utmost tenderness toward the 

 scales, he could not be made to tip them at above 

 two pounds: so I have lost half my fish by saving 

 him. 



The next shallow reach of the winding stream 

 leads us toward the blue haze of the Adirondacks, 

 lifted above the tender green of the near woods. 

 At the next, the shorn slopes and bristling ridge of 

 our own Mount Philo front us, and another draws 

 us close to a hillside soft with leafing tamaracks. 

 None of these reaches give any return for careful 

 fishing. Then we come to one most promising of 

 bass, where the deep, slow current slides through 

 an aisle of overhanging basswoods, elms, and ashes, 

 and then under a prostrate trunk, with its catch 

 of driftwood, as promising of fouled hooks, and in 

 neither respect am I disappointed. My minnow 

 has hardly struck the water when it is contended 

 for by three or four hungry bass. In this case the 

 devil takes the foremost, who in a jiffy gets the 

 hook fast in his mouth, and, as he darts this way 

 and that to rid himself of it, is closely followed by 

 his companions who knows whether envious, 

 curious, or sympathizing? A little later two of them 

 lie with him among the clover. The next cast is 



