ON REDDY'S BAR. 

 A Plum Lake Episode, 



E. E. HICKOK. 



The water shoals on Reddy's bar, yet still 



it's fathoms deep; 

 'Tis there the giant muskalonge their 



nightly revels keep. 

 Beneath the shade of towering plants they 



lie in wait by day, 

 And woe unto the luckless fish that chance 



to pass that way. 



This morn the ground with frostwas white, 

 and crisp and chill the air; 



The lake like glassy mirror lay, a scene 

 of beauty rare, 



With pine trees towering on the hills re- 

 flected on its face, 



While maple, birch and poplar white lent 

 each an added grace. 



My little boat seemed hung in space, so 

 clear the lake below, 



Until a breeze from out the West made 

 rippling wavelets flow. 



Two hundred feet out from my boat be- 

 hind me trailed my line, 



And at its end a feathered lure — see how 

 its bright rays shine! 



Hour after hour on Reddy's bar, through 



grass and waving reeds, 

 I pulled my boat without a strike, except 



from clinging weeds. 

 Discouraged I, but loath to leave, although 



I felt I must; 

 So "one more turn before I start — I'll 



have a strike, I trust." 



Then back once more on Reddy's bar, this 



now familiar ground, 

 Scarce had my line been straightened out, 



than whizz! my reel went round. 

 The fight was on, but ready I and eager 



for the fray, 

 No quarter here, no quarter there, the best 



man wins the day. 



My 6-foot rod of blackened steel seems 



light for work like this, 

 But it's been tried and never yet have I 



found aught amiss. 



My reel of old and trusty brand, none better 



ever made, 

 And line of "Wetaug" braided silk, of 



which I'm not afraid. 



A hundred feet out from my boat high in 



the air there sprung 

 A form of full 4 feet in length, and there 



an instant hung; 

 Then down and down and down it went, 



but naught was there to mar, 

 For in the battle we had fought we'd 



drifted of! the bar. 



Then up again — another break — another 



dive and rush 

 Straight toward my boat, as if its sides in 



his mad rage he'd crush. 

 Hard pressed was I to reel the line and 



keep it always taut, 

 For should he get the least of slack he 



never would be caught. 



Would that I now a comrade had to help 



me land my game, 

 But, ah! alas! I'm all alone! No help; 



but all the same, 

 I'll see it through, and I will win, for one 



thing sure I know, 

 Although it's hard to bring him in, it's 



harder to let go. 



At last he seemed to weaken some; his 



rushes not so long; 

 And as I reeled him slowly in, he was not 



near so strong; 

 But when I brought him toward the boat, 



he took new lease of life, 

 And made an angry, desperate lunge, as 



though renewing strife. 



Full 50 feet he took that dash, then 40, 



30, 10; 

 At last the battle's over. I brought him 



in again. 

 With gunwale of my boat borne down. T 



made a final stroke 

 To bring him safely over, when — confound 



that hook! — it broke. 



JANUARY. 



Now Winter's hoary breath means biz, 

 And lakes and rivers freeze; 



And many a man's chief pastime is 

 To grumble, cough, and sneeze. 



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