88 
THE GOLDEN RIVER. 
in, pnll and reel, pull and reel again, until, 
looking at the filling drum, it is clear he must 
be in a backwater. The first part of the fight 
is over. My companion reaches for the gaff. 
Down the fish goes, and cannot be got up to 
the top, down, until he must be forty feet 
straight under water. Pedroso just works the 
canoe so as to prevent him getting under it, but 
otherwise we do not move. The fish sails round, 
boring and hanging on the line, deep in the 
water. But not for long; he lunges up, 
hammers the surface with his tail, goes down, 
is pulled up nearer the canoe, and my companion 
leans out with the gaff. The fish, however, 
surges under the boat, which Pedroso instantly 
spins round on its own axis to clear the line, 
and then rolls up to the top ahead of it, churn¬ 
ing the water. Now is my chance. I have him 
on a short line, and he is on the top. Better 
take risks than allow him to go down again. 
He has got his head down for another dive, but 
I haul it up by main force, and then pull him 
suddenly, quick and hard, parallel to the boat; 
there is a flash of the gaff over his back, and the 
next instant he is in the canoe. He weighed 
twenty-six pounds and three-quarters. 
We wasted no time, but got back at once to 
the stream. It was my companion’s turn. He 
got hold of a fish exactly where I had hooked 
mine, but it got off before it had hooked itself 
properly. Then, not liking the spoon, he 
