Tragic Fishing Moments 



thrill of which will always remain with me, I insisted 

 on having fifty yards of new trolling line, and a fancy 

 and alluring Dowagiac minnow. For once I got my 

 own way. We had two boats to accommodate our 

 party, the larger (and safer) propelled by a motor, the 

 smaller trailing behind. Of course, I spoke for a place 

 in the trailer, but lost out in that, but luck was with 

 me that day, although it dodged me at first. 



My mother sat in the trailer. My father did not go, 

 so my handicap was reduced anyway 75 per cent. Our 

 man of all work headed the expedition and, believe me, 

 my father laid down the law to him, what he should 

 and should not do if I got a big fish strike. He stood 

 on the shore and gave advice until we could no longer 

 hear his voice. 



August, our man, presided at the motor quite a 

 responsibility, I'll say, for in spite of the glowing ads 

 we see in different magazines of the perfection and 

 dependability of this little motor, it has a temperament 

 all its own and should be rechristened " Maud." At 

 any rate, Maud was for going this day. 



I got the first strike, a musky, and contrary to all 

 advice, which I resented, I pulled it in as fast as I could. 

 But that trailer boat was in the way, and my mother, 

 no doubt with good intentions, tried to assist. Her 

 assistance was all the fish needed to make a getaway. 

 He flopped under the trailer and swam away leaving 

 me sad and lonely, with a lump in my throat I could 



230 



