A Wise Ol' Cat 



peaceful afternoon, and so an early midsummer 

 morning found me pulling my boat up towards a 

 long, low- water ledge of rocks that jutted out into 

 the river almost to midchannel. 



I doubt whether I have ever been able to make 

 much improvement in my outfit an old-time, one- 

 piece, hand-made cane casting rod, light, strong, re- 

 silient and balanced to a hair, a valorous old smooth- 

 running reel and a coil of sea-grass line, boiled to 

 the fraction of a second in linseed oil and polished 

 until it was almost transparent. That was the out- 

 fit with which I went forth to conquer a 2OO-pound 

 channel cat. 



I landed at the outer point of the ledge where the 

 channel ran close in and deep. Baiting my hook 

 with a generous slab of pork, I cast out. The big 

 cork drifted down with the current for about a hun- 

 dred feet and I awaited results. It was a long wait 

 and the July sun was mounting higher and growing 

 hotter. With another rig I skittered about for smaller 

 fishes. Then suddenly the big cork disappeared and" 

 the reel began to buzz. When the cork bobbed up 

 some fifty feet further away and started to perform 

 queer antics I began to have expectations. Later 

 on they assumed much acuter form. At last I had 

 hooked a big channel cat. I had never caught any- 

 thing heftier than a bass on that fine sea-grass line, 

 but I had the broad Ohio all around me and the day 



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