SOME RARE FISH 



aroused that I determined to catch one of these 

 fish or die. I fished and fished. I went to sleep in 

 a camp-chair and absolutely ruined my reputation 

 as an ardent fisherman. One afternoon, just after 

 I had made a cast, I felt the same old strange vibra- 

 tion of my line. I was not proof against it and I 

 jerked. Lo! I hooked a fish that made a savage 

 rush, pulled my bass-rod out of shape, and took all 

 my line before I could stop him. Then he swept 

 from side to side. I reeled him in, only to have 

 him run out again and again and yet again. I 

 knew I had a heavy fish. I expected him to break 

 my line. I handled him gingerly. Imagine my 

 amaze to beach a little fish that weighed scarcely 

 more than two pounds! But it was a bonefish — a 

 glistening mother-of-pearl bonefish. Somehow the 

 obsession of these bonefishermen began to be less 

 puzzling to me. Sam saw me catch this bonefish, 

 and he was as amazed as I was at the gameness and 

 speed and strength of so small a fish. 



Next day a bonefisherman of years' experience 

 answered a few questions I put to him. No, he 

 never fished for anything except bonefish. They 

 were the hardest fish in the sea to make bite, the 

 hardest to land after they were hooked. Yes, that 

 very, very slight vibration of the line — that strange 

 feeling rather than movement — was the instant 

 of their quick bite. An instant before or an instant 

 after would be fatal. 



It dawned upon me then that on my first day I 

 must have had dozens of bonefish bites, but I did 

 not know it! I was humiliated — I was taken down 

 from my lofty perch — I was furious. I thanked the 



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