THE BOOK OF THE TARPON 



the canoe. A stiff, single-action tournament 

 style of fly-rod fits the agile baby tarpon down 

 to the ground, while a withy, double-action ar- 

 ticle couldn't follow for a minute the fish's 

 changes of mind. 



"These fish are too little for the big rod, too 

 big for the little rod and we have nothing be- 

 tween," I observed to the Camera-man just after 

 landing on a tarpon rod a ten-pound fish in as 

 many minutes. 



"Let's go down the coast," was the reply. 

 "There are big fish in the big rivers and babies 

 in the creeks at the head of Harney." 



I agreed to this as I threw out a freshly baited 

 hook and trolled for another ten-pounder. But 

 it was a tarpon of ten stone or more that struck 

 before twenty feet of line had run out and as the 

 creature shot up toward the sky I shouted: 

 "There's a seven- footer for you, the biggest tarp 

 of the trip!" 



It may have been the biggest, but I shall never 

 know for sure. I threw myself back on the rod 

 with a force that would have slung a little fish 

 to the horizon and my guaranteed rod snapped 

 like glass. I hung on to the broken rod and 



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