Tragic Fishing Moments 



Daddy turned to me and said, " Now Ruth, you've 

 had him up three times, and no matter if he knocks 

 the boat over the next time he comes up, if you bring 

 him as close as you did this last time, I'll gaff him." 



I nodded my head, but I was so tired the words 

 irritated me. Why couldn't that miserable fish behave 

 and be caught this last time? Oh, I was so tired! 

 Who said this was sport? As this last thought struck 

 me, I drew a deep breath of fatigue, and loosened the 

 bend of my pole for a second. 



Daddy called, " Look out, Ruth ! Hold up your pole 

 and keep a tight line ! " The fish was coming up again, 

 slower and slower. Then came the leader ! I reeled in 

 as fast as I could, but my instant of slack line came 

 to punish me. As slowly as the fish had struck I felt 

 him leave. One second of slack line had loosened the 

 hook enough so that he had shaken it out. I drew the 

 leader up. It came so easily. There was something 

 heart-breaking in its very easiness, and the reel sobbed 

 over the wet line. The leader came closer, with the 

 line dangling limply. I picked it up, laid the rod and 

 tackle in the boat, felt for a seat, and gazed at those 

 inscrutable waters that harbored my desire. Daddy 

 picked up the oars. There was a huge lump in my 

 throat, so I turned from the river to look at my hands 

 lying inertly in my lap. My fingers were covered with 

 blood where I had knocked my knuckles on the reel. 

 I had never noticed it until this second. 



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