THE BOOK OF THE TARPON 



"That's jest what I did, when I clumb the 

 mast." 



The Camera-man and I went forward and 

 stood on the cabin, studying the clear water be- 

 fore us. We were on the shallow banks south of 

 Cape Sable, slowly moving northward before a 

 gentle breeze that scarcely caused a ripple in the 

 water. 



We came upon the tarpon, a great school of 

 them, all large and headed northwest. They 

 were swimming in a regular formation that ex- 

 tended hundreds of feet and covered many (icres. 

 There were probably thousands of tarpon in the 

 bunch. Those in our path sheered aside to avoid 

 us, but none seemed alarmed. 



"The rods are still in commission, and I'll 

 paddle you if you would like to try them," said 

 I to the Camera-man. 



"I don't believe there is the least chance, but 

 I'd like to be reminded how a rod feels," was 

 the reply and we were soon in the canoe among 

 the tarpon. 



I paddled slowly and I paddled fast. In the 

 clear water on the light banks every scale of a 

 tarpon could be seen and the bait almost 



218 



