362 Big Game Fishes 
down into the deep valley of Despair. My boat- 
man lighted his pipe and asked me what I was 
going to do when the remaining fifty feet of line 
had disappeared. He was clearly in the sarcastic 
stage, and I retorted by suggesting that he take 
the oars and see what could be done. This 
stopped the run, and by the most heroic and 
muscle-rending labor I gained twenty feet on 
the line, then lay back while that awful weight 
dragged and surged and took the dory down 
deeper and deeper. 
“ Any of your folks ever have shocks?” senten- 
tiously asked my companion. 
I ignored the suggestion and held back with 
desperation and hauled in vain; inch by inch, 
foot by foot, the fish took the line, and it gradually 
dawned upon me that the real fisherman was at 
the other end; the sockdolliger had indeed “ sized 
me up,” and was playing me. It jerked my arms 
almost out, took the skin from my fingers; it 
pulled me this way and that while ambling along, 
now stopping to hammer me with sturdy blows, 
then putting on a strain that nearly lifted me 
from my seat, and the iron entered my soul as I 
realized that I would have to ask for assistance. 
If I could only have gotten rid of the fish in 
