Adventures with the Biggest Bass 



beneath the sea. You check it; the line comes taut, 

 and for a single second you feel that strange insistent 

 throbbing and think you hear it, as the line is a single 

 chord played by the currents of the sea. Then you 

 brace back and, as the line tautens, jerk heavily on 

 the line and then, literally, the deluge. 



At this period I had taken every known large fish 

 in our Southern waters, not once, but repeatedly, 

 from the tarpon to the king of rays, but in all these 

 bouts I had never received so quick a retort, as the 

 next thing I knew my arms were elbow deep in the 

 water and the line was hissing through the water. 

 It is the fashion to disparage the hand-line and argue 

 that it requires no skill and is a barbarous method of 

 taking a really game fish, for the latter, as a rule, has 

 no chance whatever; yet contrast the action of a 

 green hand and a skilled handliner; the former 

 misses, his line becomes involved, while the latter 

 hauls in with the rapidity of light, his fingers grip 

 the line every time by intuition, and when the rush 

 comes, he allows it to run out, using his thumb and 

 forefinger as a brake, and putting on just the re- 

 quired tension. 



There was not much time to make a demonstration 

 of skill here, as the hauling was all one way. I could 

 compare it to nothing but a twelve-foot shark, too 

 big to be fooled with, yet I did manage to stop it 

 legitimately and hauled it up a foot or two, then I 

 had my arms dragged beneath the surface again. 



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