Tragic Fishing Moments 



noon. Art came in with a seven-pound Northern 

 pike and he was all swelled up Art, not the pike 

 and confided to us that he could have caught it 

 sooner if he had wanted to, but had put it off until 

 the last day so as not to spoil our pleasure, which, of 

 course, was very considerate of him. Things looked 

 bad for Herm and me with Art two pounds in the 

 lead and only half a day to go, as we intended start- 

 ing home in the morning. 



After dinner we started out again, and as far as 

 I was concerned it looked like a forlorn hope, as con- 

 ditions were all against me. It was my day to go 

 alone. A strong wind had come up, which made it 

 extremely difficult for me to fish and handle the boat 

 at the same time. I tried to cast, but the wind would 

 carry the boat in the weeds and I could do nothing 

 that way. I tried trolling, but the water was so rough 

 I could not see and was continually getting snagged, 

 so I gave that up in disgust. At last in desperation 

 I anchored the boat in the extreme end of a bay 

 where I could cast with the wind into a narrow pass 

 formed by the weeds, a good hundred yards from the 

 shore, where the water was quite deep. 



After a number of casts I hooked a small pickerel, 

 but I was pretty well discouraged. After what seemed 

 a long time I got another a little larger. 



"If this keeps up at this rate/' I thought, "I'll 

 have one about eight pounds by sometime to-morrow." 



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