Just Wait, Mr. Bass 



should start on its return trip the instant it touched 

 the water. Fascinated, I watched it wiggle its way 

 back. This was fun. But I believed I could make the 

 next cast just a little neater. We were just rounding 

 the curve of a tiny bay and approaching the mouth of 

 a small stream. Aiming at a break in the lily pads a 

 nice distance from the boat, all absorbed in the per- 

 fection of my cast, I watched the flight of my lure. 

 Then the most paralyzing thing happened. A yawn- 

 ing mouth, a curved black back, appeared from no- 

 where amid a pool of boiling water. I can only tell 

 this as I remember it. That huge fish seemed to re- 

 main half out of the water, poised, mouth agape, 

 for an age. I couldn't move. 



As long as I live I know I can see that picture. 

 Every lily pad, the slender rushes, the great fish poised, 

 a background of birches and pines, the mist over the 

 lake. Suddenly it dawned on me that the fish was 

 gone. Frantically I started to reel in. I was so as- 

 tounded at this fairy tale come true that it never 

 occurred to me to strike. For an instant only I felt 

 his weight, then it was all over, and my heart sank 

 like lead. Why, oh, why, couldn't I have had a little 

 bass or two at first, just to practice on? Why this 

 blinding vision, the instant of exultation when I 

 thought I still had the bass of which I had dreamed 

 for two years then all over. 



There were other bass that morning, but not like 



17 



