Tragic Fishing Moments 



as he could haul them in. Just as the last rays of the 

 sun were reflecting from the little waves below the 

 island I stepped out to the spot where I had seen the 

 big fish, stood rigid for a full three minutes, then with 

 a wrist motion placed the Coachman as near the spot 

 where I had seen him as I could. 



There was no delay, up he came and took the fly. 

 I set it firmly in the upper jaw and the fight was on. 

 He was the largest fish I had ever hooked and I hoped, 

 oh, how I hoped! that my Jinx was broken. Mr. 

 Hall sent Bobbie back to the buggy for his landing 

 net and stood ready to aid me in any way that he 

 could. Carefully I watched the trout's maneuvers and 

 forestalled them. Not once did I move in my tracks 

 nor take my eyes from the line until, nearly drowned, 

 he began to give way. Carefully I drew the line with 

 my left hand and led him back across the pool toward 

 the excited pair with the landing net. Then just as 

 he came into the smooth waters between me and the 

 current, just as leisurely, just as certainly, another 

 giant rose and swallowed the Jungle Cock. I wouldn't 

 attempt to describe the rest of that fight nor my emo- 

 tions. Only the man who has fished for native trout 

 could appreciate it, and he doesn't want to be told. 

 At last, just before dark, Mr. Hall slipped a net under 

 the trout that had hooked himself, and Bobbie got 

 his fingers into the gills of the one on the end, and 

 we all backed up on the bank to a safe place to put 



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