A Reel Story 



so common on our lakes, which they give to fisher- 

 men to suffer in, and which possess every feature 

 which does not go to make a real boat. Using a 

 little more care, I pulled in the anchor line until I 

 could see my fish. He had wound himself right up 

 close to the rope and was jerking and snapping on 

 that line for all he was worth. It was a brand new 

 twelve-pound test, but I knew the power of a fish in 

 the water. Up he came toward the surface, until he 

 was right on top. 



Forgetting everything but the fact that I simply 

 must have that fish and that he was in imminent 

 danger of getting away, I let go of the anchor rope 

 with one hand and grabbed him around the neck. 

 As I did so, my knee slipped off of the seat and I fell 

 headlong across the bow, my face and both arms go- 

 ing into the water, nearly punching a hole in my 

 stomach with the bow, and the weight of the anchor 

 nearly pulling me into the lake. 



But did I let go of that fish? No, sir. Not so 

 you could notice it. I simply had to have that fish. 

 I had a hold of him and I was going to keep a hold 

 of him. 



Well, there I was the anchor rope in one hand, 

 the fish in the other, and the bow boring into my wish- 

 bone and fairly crowding the breath out of me. I 

 was unable to wriggle back in the boat without the 

 use of at least one hand. If I dropped the anchor, 



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