Tragic Fishing Moments 



tried. About ten-thirty A. M. I succeeded in arousing 

 Mr. Bass so much that he hit that minnow like a pile 

 driver, just from annoyance, I suppose. I hooked him, 

 and the fight was on. He cut all the capers he knew, 

 but the hook was well caught. To facilitate playing 

 the fish I had raised up to a kneeling position and was 

 enjoying the fight of my life when there was a deafen- 

 ing bellow from Brother Bull, and I knew he was right 

 behind me. 



Now when a bull bellows in rage and is right be- 

 hind you there is only one course of action, and it 

 must be instantaneous or it's too late for action step 

 on the gas and start in high ; you won't have time to 

 shift gears! Climb a tree if you can reach one, but 

 make it snappy. I was three hundred yards from the 

 fence and half a mile to a tree. Mine was Hobson's 

 choice and I took it in a mariner that would have de- 

 lighted Steve Brodie! 



Without looking around and with all possible speed 

 I went over the bank down into the cool, deep water. 

 I hit the water all spread out like a carpet. When I 

 came up I started swimming around so that I could see 

 where the bull was. Imagine my chagrin, not to say 

 anger, to see Brother Bull charging, head and tail up, 

 a half mile down the shore where he did a magnificent 

 job of scattering a picnic party. The bellow I had 

 heard was one of many general warnings meant for 

 the party, but it cost me the Daddy of All Bass. He 



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