Tragic Fishing Moments 



of the boat and went overboard. The open tackle 

 box on the seat accommodatingly accompanied me, 

 landing bottom-up in the boat. Plugs, hooks, spoons, 

 swivels, snaps, sinkers, leaders, scales, etc., flew all 

 over the scene. I tried to gather my bass up in my 

 arms, but found that impossible. Next I tried to lie 

 on him, but he would ooze out somewhere. I could 

 feel a plug sticking in one of my legs, and could dis- 

 tinctly see others hanging on various parts of my 

 anatomy. 



" Hit him over the head ! " howled Ben. 



The first thing my hand happened upon was an oar. 

 This I grabbed up and, waiting a favorable " rise " 

 struck viciously at the bass' head. Instead of hitting 

 the bass the oar struck the gunwales of the boat a 

 terrific smash and popped right off close to the han- 

 dle. With the handle I soon beat the head of my 

 vicitim to a jelly. 



"Guerre a' mort!" shouted Ben, as he picked up 

 the war-club I had just abandoned and flourished it 

 overhead. "Guerre a' outrance!" And writhed in 

 glee. 



Get the scene : In ten feet of water, plainly visible, 

 lay my rod and reel and a mess of tangled line. I 

 picked up my sweater from the bottom of the boat. 

 Hanging to it were behooked demons of every color 

 and description. On my south trouser leg hung a 

 South Bend Bass-Oreno; on the north one, a spotted 



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