Tragic Fishing Moments 



toward the deeper. I finally made a cast near the 

 far bank, and there was a swirl of water as some- 

 thing took the black fly. I put the hook into him, 

 and I did not know whether I had the fish or the 

 fish had me. I was in water up to my waist, and it 

 was very swift too, and much deeper below me. 



I grabbed the rod above the reel with both hands 

 and held on. The fish was doing everything he knew 

 to break loose, rushing first to one side as far as he 

 could, then to the other, and twice he came out of the 

 water and looked as long as my arm, and six or eight 

 inches wide. I realized I could hold him, and decided 

 to back out to shore with him fighting every inch of 

 the way. 



I had gotten about half way to shore with him, 

 when my foot caught on a sunken limb. I stum- 

 bled and fell backwards in the water. When I 

 got to my feet, and got the water out of my eyes, 

 I still had the rod in one hand, and it felt as limp 

 as a wet dishrag. I had lost the best fish I had ever 

 hooked. What I said would not look well in print 

 and I will leave it to the imagination of the reader. 

 I have had more fun and pleasure with that old rod 

 than you could put in the Woolworth Building, and 

 now there's nothing left but the second joint and butt 

 to remind me of my tragic moment. 



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