CHAPTER II 
THE WHITE SEA-BASS 
“Tf I can but hold him.” — Izaak WALTON. 
THERE is an element of chance in sea-angling 
found in no other sport. I remember that my 
old boatman on the St. Lawrence knew every 
rock and shoal in a thirty-mile row around 
Grenadier Island and would often indicate a 
strike in advance. So with trout-fishing, every 
frequenter of certain streams has the picture of 
favorite pools photographed on his memory. 
With the sea-angler the reverse holds. He 
“grasps the skirt of happy chance” and boldly 
sails out upon the unknown sea of Fortunatus 
without pointer or tip, with absolutely nothing 
except his inherent luck, upon which he stakes 
his all on this happy day. 
The sea-angler is often superstitious. He 
has his whims and fancies. He assumes that a 
lost fish tells its companions; that it is worse 
than useless to fish on the ebb tide, and doubts 
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