TALES OF FISHES 



the swift and powerful bonefish is simply absurd. 

 No! I can prove otherwise. But that must be 

 another story. 



Some one must pioneer these sorely needed re- 

 forms. It may be a thankless task, but it is one 

 that some of us are standing by. We need the help 

 of brother anglers. 



One morning in February there was a light breeze 

 from the north and the day promised to be ideal. 

 We ran out to the buoy and found the Gulf Stream 

 a very dark blue, with a low ripple and a few 

 white-caps here and there. 



Above the spindle we began to see sailfish jumping 

 everywhere. One leaped thirteen times, and another 

 nineteen. Many of them came out sidewise, with 

 a long, sliding plunge, which action at first I took to 

 be that made by a feeding fish. After a while, how- 

 ever, and upon closer view, I changed my mind 

 about this. 



My method, upon seeing a fish jump, was to speed 

 up the boat until we were in the vicinity where the 

 fish had come up. Then we would slow down and 

 begin trolling, with two baits out, one some forty 

 or fifty feet back and the other considerably farther. 



We covered several places where we had seen the 

 sheetlike splashes; and at the third or fourth I 

 felt the old electrifying tap at my bait. I leaped 

 up and let my bait run back. The sailfish tapped 

 algain, then took hold so hard and ran off so swiftly 

 that I jerked sooner than usual. I pulled the bait 

 away from him. All this time the boat was running. 

 Instead of winding in I let the bait run back. Sud- 



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