THE FIRST DAY’S FISHING. 
43 
up, and after three casts a third fish was 
hooked. 
He was much bigger : how big cannot be said 
for he was never weighed. If the last was 
between fifteen and twenty pounds weight, as 
it probably was, this one was between twenty 
and twenty-five, perhaps more. He behaved 
like a fish of his size. He jumped, but not so 
often, just enough to show his length and depth, 
and then before I knew anything he had a 
hundred yards of line out in the first rush, 
and was all over the strong water, playing 
ferociously. Downstream he went, then rushed 
across, rolling up to the top, shaking his head 
and lashing his tail. Suddenly, in one of his 
runs, a fast one but nothing exceptional, I felt 
he was off. I reeled in. He had broken the 
reel line. 
Here was a tragedy, deep and far-reaching 
Pedroso paddled the boat into the shore and 
we sat down to think it over. The accident 
meant far more than the loss of the fish, though 
that was bad enough. My line was the only 
one I had. It was new. It had been bought 
specially for dorado. And it had broken when 
it ought not to have broken. It was broken, 
not cut. I was holding the fish hard, no doubt, 
but not unduly so. The rod was well up and 
reel running. The break was not at a knot or 
loop, but fair in the middle of the line, some 
way apparently from the trace. If it had 
