THE BOOK OF THE TARPON 



one move to meet that attack and it usually ends 

 in a broken rod and a lost fish. I dropped the 

 rod flat on the water, thrusting it beneath the 

 surface elbow deep, while my finger kept a light 

 pressure on the line. Happily the tip swung to 

 the tarpon without breaking and the fish was 

 played from a rod under water until the captain 

 had turned the canoe around. 



The strain of a single pound on a fly-rod is 

 more exhausting to the fisherman than ten or 

 even twenty times that pull on a tarpon rod and 

 I was glad when the Camera-man said he had 

 used his last plate and offered to change places 

 with me. Usually when plates were out we got 

 rid of the fish as soon as we could, but this was 

 an unusual fish, destined to hold long the record 

 for an eight-ounce rod capture, if once we could 

 slide it over the side of the little canoe. The 

 craft might be swamped the next minute, but 

 the record would be safe. 



The tarpon noticed the new hand at the bel- 

 lows and went over his repertoire brilliantly. He 

 traveled a mile up the river in search of a place 

 to hide from the human gadfly that worried him 

 and sulked under a bank for some minutes be- 



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