132 SUNSHINE AND SPORT IN 



up in the air again, down to the bottom, all over 

 the place at once. At last we gain ground and 

 head for the beach, and there is little further opposi- 

 tion until the boat grounds and Underhill jumps out, 

 gaff in hand. Then the very devil enters into the 

 tarpon. I am left in the boat, both thumbs, one of 

 them numb with rheumatism, jambed against the 

 leather brake. The fish, seeing white water and 

 divining danger in the shallows, goes off, as a 

 hunting friend would say, hell for leather, out into 

 the deep water. Seventy or eighty yards of line it 

 gets off the reel, and I, handicapped by my sick 

 thumb, am powerless to stay the rush. The 

 maddened fish has things all its own way. This 

 is the moment at which some fishermen gird on the 

 belt and, planting the butt of the rod in the socket 

 just over the pit of the stomach, step backwards up 

 the slope, or put their rod over their shoulder and 

 clamber into the scrub, then run back to the water's 

 edge, reeling in line all the while. This manoeuvre 

 is repeated until the fish rolls on its side within 

 reach of the gaff. Mindful of the strain which it 

 threw on my stomach the first day I tried it, I now 

 sit tight, but another quarter of an hour goes by, 

 thanks to the uselessness of my thumb, before I get 

 control of the wayward runaway and bring it to 

 Underbill's feet, so limp that it is not even necessary 

 to spoil it with the gaff. It is dragged carefully 

 ashore by the wire snell, and so as not to bruise both 

 sides with the cutting sand, and is a beautiful deep 

 fish well over six feet in length. Its exact length 

 proved to be six feet four inches, and its weight 140 

 Ibs., a trophy for my club in town, where to this 

 day it reposes, inspiring goodness knows how many 



