F L Y-F ISHING IN THE SCHUYLKILL RIVER 



the leader than with the thought of a fish rising 

 to the flies, to my astonishment I saw a black bass 

 plunge across and slightly up the rapid, with a 

 sweep like a flash at my point fly, but missing it. 

 When he attempted to strike, his back for several 

 inches came out of the water, and as the sun was 

 shining brightly I could distinctly see his outline 

 and length. Boys, he was a whopper! The larg- 

 est I ever saw rise to a fly in any waters outside 

 of Lake Champlain. 



" I was considerably flurried and excited, but 

 cooled down in a moment, and made a cast, point- 

 ing my ender just below the spot where the bass 

 would probably reach and pause after his sweep 

 at my flies. It was just at the outer edge of the 

 swift current, where concentric and enlarging rings 

 on the surface told me that there was still water 

 below. My ' hornet ' no sooner struck the eddy 

 than it was struck by the bass. 



"Of course, boys, I had a heavy and sweating 

 time of it. The old rascal never came out of the 

 wet at all, but despite my efforts that nose of his 

 was pointed all the time at the boiling rapid, and 

 at last his body went along with his nose. I 

 scrambled down the rock as best I could, — in fact, 

 I slid down flat on my back, — and gave him his 

 own way. Down stream he went, with just enough 

 tension on him to hold the barb of the hook tightly 

 imbedded in his jaw until he reached mid-channel, 



7 97 



