THE BORDER OF THE GLADES 



asked the captain. "The pool there is chock-full 

 of 'em." 



"I want some babies for real fly-rod work and 

 they are a bit too big for that, but we'll try 

 them." 



We went down the river to the pool which was 

 teeming with tarpon and I wa* sure my first cast 

 would end in a strike. But I cast fly and bait, 

 again and again, without winning the attention 

 of a fish. I dragged the line across the pool as 

 they played until they knocked it aside with 

 their heads. We wasted an hour before giving 

 up, and then paddled down a shallow branch of 

 the river that led away from the crooked creek. 

 At last I had a strike, and a tarpon about four 

 feet long, after two wild leaps, sped down the 

 stream while my reel buzzed in its highest key 

 and the line ran low on the reel. 



The captain paddled his best in spite of the 

 way I yelled at him and the considerate fish 

 turned back and zigzagged, giving me a chance 

 to gather in line. As we kept on down the 

 stream it grew shallower and narrower, my reel 

 was nearly full, and I felt sure of the game when 

 the tarpon dashed into an overgrown creek where 



179 



