Tragic Fishing Moments 



he had taken a mouthful he didn't want. No sooner 

 had he discovered that he had been an old fool and 

 that the bug wasn't really good to eat, he went straight 

 to the bottom, turned tail and made a flying leap two 

 feet out of the water. Oh, he was a lunker! 



Already I was thinking of what the boys would 

 say, etc., when he made one grand break high in the 

 air and then to the bottom. Something snapped. My 

 line came easy too easy. He had departed for some 

 other seaport with my bug and half-tested three-foot 

 double gut leader. Curses! Give me a cigarette! It 

 was bad enough that my biggest fish should get away, 

 but it was real tragedy that he took my fish catching 

 bug along with him. From then on I cast everything 

 from a porkrind to a luminous floater without the 

 least sign of a strike. The answer is that those bass 

 wanted floating bugs and, moreover, wanted " Wild- 

 er's Discovery," and nothing else would do. 



We came into camp that night happy but mourn- 

 ing the loss of our biggest fish and our only bass bug 

 and our chances for taking any more fish in tow via 

 the bug method. That half hour's experience took 

 away most of the enthusiasm I ever had for wooden 

 plugs and I was from then on a Bass Bug Booster. 



Bright and early the next morning I slipped away 

 from camp alone and revisited the scene of the pre- 

 vious evening's conflict. Not seeing any wreckage 

 or spoils of war, I floated on downstream turning that 



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