126 SUNSHINE AND SPORT IN 



it proved that evening to scale 145 Ibs., a goodly 

 fish destined for a London club. 



This is a day of days. Before we have fished 

 an hour everyone has a fish on the beach, a rare 

 achievement so early in the day. "Gee Whiz," 

 still smarting under the larceny of the shark, is 

 consoled by a fish of 100 Ibs. R. has one that 

 should be well over 120 Ibs., and three or four 

 others going 80 Ibs. and 90 Ibs. are drawn up in the 

 shade beneath the little pier. 



One only of the stranded tarpon is mine, but the 

 morning has been a busy one in our boat, for 

 Underbill has gaffed and thrown back a couple of 

 jewfish, each probably over 50 Ibs., three kingfish 

 between 15 Ibs. and 20 Ibs. apiece, which seized the 

 bait with royal determination close to the surface, 

 half a dozen ugly groupers about 10 Ibs. each, and a 

 cobia (pronounced cawbya) of about the same weight. 

 It has the colouring of a codfish and the fighting 

 pluck of a bass, with a trick of hanging round the 

 boat and snatching any bait that dangles over the 

 side. This often means a smash* but this time the 

 cobia came safely to the gaff. 



After an hour or so of such fishing, catching 

 every few minutes something which at home would 

 be reckoned a grand fish, but which in the vocabu- 

 lary of the fastidious tarpon-fisherman counts only 

 as vermin, I strike something appalling. It makes 

 no move, but its mere weight almost pulls the rod 

 out of my hand as it sinks slowly to the bottom, and 

 the strain on my line suggests the pull of a vessel 

 on her anchor. For a second or two we hold our 

 breath. There may yet be a jump, and if there is, 

 and if all goes well, we have something very near the 



