Tragic Fishing Moments 



That fish was deeply insulted. His Royal Highness 

 to be bothered in this manner? As though he had 

 been in clear view, I could see him proudly shake his 

 head, and say, "I'll make quick work of this." 



" Zz-zz," came the soprano of the reel, and the fish 

 was playing a small, bewildered girl through the 

 medium of a light line and a trout rod. Such a thought 

 must have come to me, for I laughed out loud, then 

 set my thumbs hard on the line once more, and my 

 teeth on my lower lip. That fish wasn't going to sit 

 down there in those cool, deep waters and hold his 

 shaking sides, laughing at me. The fish, with respect 

 for my new mood, came around slowly, and oh, was 

 this possible, or was I dreaming ? No, it's true ! The 

 line was actually coming into my reel. I thought of 

 grinding hard, dry chunks of bread in the family 

 meatchopper as I fought for that line while the fish, 

 with a " You first, my dear Gaston " air, retraced his 

 steps. Now he was directly under the boat, then 

 slowly, on and on, while Daddy turned the boat around 

 and upstream. Who can tell the workings of the 

 piscatorial mind ? The King might have thought that 

 he could carry us to the Willamette falls, fifteen miles 

 away, and leaping them, rid himself of this cumber- 

 some object. So I brought my teeth down on my 

 lip harder, and took hold of the reel handle more 

 firmly. The rod was bending dangerously, but I gave 

 a slow steady pull backwards which strained my whole 



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