June, 1920 
FORES J AND STREAM 
339 
he dropped the hook in the water as it 
was and after a lapse of perhaps ten 
minutes said quietly: “There’s one at 
my bait now. Looking over the side of 
the boat the line could be seen moving 
slowly away. Then he struck and hooked 
his fish and a struggle was on. The 
pliant rod was bent in all shapes as the 
fish held to the bottom, going this way 
and that, never swift in its movements 
but doggedly determined to hold the bot- 
tom. Mr. Adams made no effort to bring 
it to the surface, merely keeping the line 
taut so the hook would hold firm. Roily 
water soon showed at the top, proving 
that the fish was trying to disgorge the 
hook by driving its jaws in the mud. 
After possibly ten minutes it began to 
weaken and was brought to the surface 
and Mr. Woodhull netted it as it came 
up near him — a beautiful golden bronze 
fish of perhaps twelve pounds in weight. 
Matt was in ecstacies. “Gee,” he said, 
“if I could hook one like that I’d see it 
nights, an’ on beans, too, Gosh!” “They 
are the most peculiar fish we have in any 
of our waters,” said Mr. Adams. “At 
times they will take almost any kind 
of bait, then nothing seems to suit 
them and it is almost impossible to 
get one, so it is best to be pro- 
vided with several kinds when on a 
trip. * They are very fond of vegetable 
substances, as well as grubs and worms. 
Dough will sometimes take them when 
all else fails. Worms don’t seem to be 
what they are looking for; try beans.” 
The boy looked a trifle crestfallen. He 
had ridiculed the bean idea so that to re- 
sort to them was like touching a slightly 
tender corn, but he wanted fish and he 
was willing to make a sacrifice of preju- 
dice in order to gain a material conquest, 
so he adopted beans as did Mr. Woodhull 
a little later. An hour passed without 
any more evidence of carp and they had 
renewed their baits several times. Matt 
again resorted to worms. At last he felt 
a pull at his tackle and was all attention 
in a trice. “I felt something good an’ 
strong,” he whispered to Mr. Adams. 
Mab’e its an eel; it seemed to just back 
away with the hook.” “Wait and hold 
perfectly still,” he was advised. “They 
are very suspicious at times” A moment 
later he said: “Somethin’s at it again.” 
A vigorous pull convinced him that the 
fish was hooked. He set the end of his 
pole up sharply and knew he had con- 
nected with something of life and much 
weight. The pole, while quite stout, was 
sharply bent and the fish made a more 
vigorous fight than the one Mr. Adams 
had caught earlier in the day. It went 
around the boat several times, not swift- 
ly, but with the same determined spirit of 
keeping at the bottom, and the mud was 
soon to be seen rising to the top of the 
water as before. The heavier pole put 
more tension on the fish and in about the 
same length of time it came to the top 
and Mr. Adams this time made ready to 
get it into the net. When it appeared 
at the surface and Matt saw it he gasped, 
then, dropping on his knees in the bottom 
of the boat, his attitude and expression of 
face became a fit study for an artist’s 
brush. “Steady now, just bring him a 
little nearer, there now,- quietly,” inter- 
spersed by remarks from Matt such as; 
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