340 



RECREATION. 



"No," I answered, "that would not be 

 fair. You know I am acquainted with the 

 river, and the other side is the best, so here 

 goes for the toss." 



I won the toss and chose the near side, 

 with a cheerful consciousness of my gener- 

 osity which was not in the least affected 

 by Reddy's suspicious glances. He was 

 game, however, and waded into the swift 

 water without another word; and he got 

 safely across a deep place that had baf- 

 fled me many a time. I stepped into the 

 water, which was clear and beautiful, and 

 as cold as ice. In a little eddy below me 

 I saw the swirl of one of those vultures of 

 the Delaware, a black bass, as he leaped 

 for his prey, and sent a shower of little 

 shiners out of the water, looking like bright 

 glints of silver as they jumped frantically 

 for dear life. It was a grand day for fish- 

 ing, and the bass seized hungrily at any 

 kind of bait I offered. They were all 

 small, however, and, as I was after big 

 game, I returned them safe to the water. 



Occasionally I looked over to see what 

 Reddy was doing. Usually he was up to 

 his neck in the water and half the time his 

 rod was bent double. I also noticed some- 

 thing that worried me considerably. It 

 was a long, black object, and it floated 

 from a string tied to Reddy's belt. 



About noon we both made for the big 

 stone near the middle of the river, where 

 we rested and had our lunch. My fears 

 were realized. That long black object 

 was a 3-pounder, a beautiful specimen of 

 the red-eyed bronze-back of the Delaware. 



"Have you been fishing, or did you 

 come along just for company?" asked 

 Reddy, cheerfully. I made some remark 

 about the luck of certain people. 



Reddy was satisfied to stop then; in fact, 

 he loafed the rest of the day; but I am a 

 hard loser and I hated to quit. Five 

 o'clock found us at the foot of the rifts 

 with only one more hole to fish. It was 

 the Beer Mug, a hole so deep that it looks 

 black, and always covered with great 

 patches of foam. It was a likely place 

 for a big fellow, but I had never caught 

 one there. Now I have memories of that 

 hole which will never be effaced. 



Reddy hooked and landed a big eel, 

 which wound the 6-foot leader entirely 

 around its slippery body. This made 

 Reddy so tired that he said things which 

 can not be repeated here, and quit for the 

 day. 



I caught 2 small bass and a sunfish. 

 Then I tried a helgramite for a change. 

 I fished the hole every way, but without 

 success. I was reluctantly winding in my 

 line, of which I had more than ioo feet out, 

 when I felt a little bite and hooked what 

 I knew at once to be a chub. I continued 

 to reel in my line in disgust, when sud- 

 denly it became fast on something. It 



felt like a water-soaked log. I pulled and 

 pulled, but could not get the line off. I 

 did not wish to lose 50 feet or more of good 

 line, so I waded out and down the side of 

 the pool to a point opposite where I 

 thought I was fast. Imagine my surprise 

 when I got there to find my line going 

 slowly and steadily up stream, through 

 water that was quite swift. I could 

 not believe my eyes, and was paralyzed 

 for the moment. That chub was 6 inches 

 long, probably, but he could never have 

 moved the line in that manner. Reddy 

 dropped his things and became interested 

 in a moment, with his characteristic re- 

 mark that "something must be doing." 



Then I struck hard, for I knew I 

 had hooked a heavy and powerful fish. 

 At the first rush he took 20 yards of line 

 and pulled my tip under water. The reel 

 went around so fast it burned my thumb. 

 With one yell I settled down to business. 

 I knew my tackle and that if the fish 

 could be kept in that pool he was mine. 

 He made for the head of the pool and then 

 he went from side to side in short, furious 

 dashes. My brother was yelling to me 

 like a lunatic, and was running around 

 snapping pictures of me with his camera. 

 I controlled the fish perfectly for the first 

 few moments of that struggle, and then, 

 with what seemed to me a settled purpose, 

 he started down stream for shoal water. 

 Below were swift and dangerous rifts for 

 wading and I knew if he got in them I 

 should lose him. Twice I tried to stop 

 him, but each time I saw the wet line 

 stretch with the heavy strain on it as he 

 tugged doggedly; and fearing it would 

 snap, I had to follow him. I waded down 

 stream as fast as possible and as I climbed 

 over a big stone in my way I saw the fish 

 distinctly in the shallow water below me. 

 It was a pike, fully a yard long, and as his 

 great yellow body flashed in the water, his 

 head pointed toward the bottom and tail 

 up, I groaned in spirit. He was not even 

 tired, and there I was, in a dangerous 

 place to wade, a 5-ounce rod in my hands, 

 and at the other end of a silken thread a 

 monster. 



Wading over a bad place I lost my bal- 

 ance and my thumb slipped off the reel. 

 At that critical moment the pike made his 

 fiercest, maddest rush. It was all over in 

 less than a second. My reel, being a 4- 

 multiplier, overran, the wet line tangled 

 and became fast, there was a snap, and 

 I was looking miserably at a limp line 

 that floated on the swift water in front 

 of me. That was an unhappy moment. 



As we walked down the winding mount- 

 tain road Reddy generously forgot his 

 wish and tried to cheer me, but without 

 avail. I could hardly see the beauty of 

 the setting sun, going down behind the 

 mountains in a red blaze of glory. 



