Tarpon Fishing on ihe Panuco. 
“You might fish in front of the wharf to-day 
and try it up river to-morrow,” This from 
Mr. Poindexter, the hotel man at Tampico, as 
I came from the breakfast room with an arm¬ 
ful of fishing tackle, photograph outfit and am¬ 
munition for the inner man. The guide, whose 
name I do not know, but who answered with 
equal cheerfulness to “Montezuma,” “Tetraz¬ 
zini” or “Pie-face,” took his share of the load, 
and we were off to fulfill a three-year-old dream 
—to catch tarpon! After a half hour’s trolling 
back and forth in the small, flat-bottomed boat, 
the guide remarked with a pleasant smile, “No 
fish here—no see ’em jump.” 
“Well,” I said, using as people will when 
talking to a foreigner, his dialect, “no fish on 
Broadway either; can fish dere if don t want 
tarpon,” 
“Plenty fish up river; can get gasolene launch 
een tehn meenut.” 
Now. dear reader, I am no linguist, but there 
are various phrases which are so often repeated 
here under similar circumstances, that any one 
could pick out their meaning. I am referring 
especially to the last three words of the little 
guide. None of the words is in my pocket 
dictionary, but judging from many experiences, 
it is plain that “een tehn meenut’’ is the Mexi¬ 
can for “in an hour and a quarter.” At any 
rate, by half past nine the boat was fastened 
to the stern of the launch, and we headed up 
the river. Ten miles above Tampico is Tamos, 
an eye-sore consisting of a railroad station, a 
saloon and about a dozen houses. We had 
left Tamos about a mile and a half astern, when 
suddenly, for ahead I saw a great splash. 
“Tarpon!’’ exclaimed the captain, who, by the 
way, was nodding at my side as I steered. 
And then I understood what the guide had 
meant by “no fish here.” 
It seems the tarpon stay in great schools. 
They move from day to day to various favorite 
stretches of river, and when they are “here” 
one knows it at once. The stretch we were 
coming to is perhaps a quarter of a mile long 
and two hundred yards wide. Such a melee it 
is difficult to imagine. There was a constant 
commotion in the water and often we saw a 
dozen fish rising at the same time. It must be 
understood, however, that, except when hooked, 
tarpon at Tampico, unlike those in Florida 
waters, very seldom jump clear of the water. 
The usual “rise” consists of a fish rolling over 
on his side and just breaking through the sur¬ 
face. As he turns to go to the bottom, his tail 
gives the water a great slap that sends the spray 
ten feet in the air. When this first occurs with¬ 
in five feet of the boat it is very startling, and 
even its frequent occurrence docs not rob it of 
intense interest. The “crew,” a constantly 
smiling Mexican boy, whom, because of his one 
English phrase, I named “Dontgiveadam,” shut 
off the power, and we moored the launch to a 
tree overhanging the right hand bank. Taking 
to the small boat, we trolled in the middle of 
the river. I felt a slight touch on the line, 
struck as hard as possible, and—the line reeled 
in without resistance. A miss! 
We put on a fresh mullet and tried again. 
Almost instantly a fish took the bait, and this 
time, by good luck, I hooked him. I was using 
the regulation 290Z. tarpon rod, and a large reel, 
fitted with a 5-pound drag. Even so, there 
was no holding the mass of energy at the 
further end of the line. Off he tore for almost 
a hundred feet, and suddenly rose straight from 
the water, clearing the surface by fully five feet. 
When, with a great splash, he dropped back, 
it was not to sulk—but to fight all the harder. 
Against that heavy tackle, the fish evidently 
realized he was fighting for his life, and for ten 
THE OTHER MAn’S TARPON. 
minutes (American currency) the struggle was 
fast and furious. Then he began to tire, and 
dropping the spectacular, settled down to 
hard, steady pulling. This was hard work, but 
not particularly interesting, and in ten minutes 
more the guide rowed the boat ashore, and, as 
I reeled in the fish, ran into the water up to his 
knees and gaffed him—and I had a 654-foot 
tarpon for over the dining room mantel. At 
least so I thought. 
The guide ran a rope through the tarpon’s 
jaw and fastened him to a partially submerged 
log, so as to keep him alive; and we again 
went out. 
We had no luck trolling, so, as the fish were 
rising all around, the guide told me to let out 
thirty feet of line. The Panuco is very deep 
and the hook did not touch bottom. Every 
five or ten minutes a fish would touch the 
bait, and, after several misses, one was hooked. 
He was only a little fellow, perhaps four feet 
long, but he was charged with electricity. He 
came out of the water with a frantic rush, about 
forty feet away, and with one shake, sent the 
hook flying almost to the boat. In the next 
hour we hooked three more fish which freed 
themselves at the first jump. Then I managed 
to strike one properly and the fight was on. 
It was a repetition of the first fish caught, until 
we tried to land him. After two misses with 
the gaff, the fish evidently decided that the 
little red man with the bare legs was “bad 
medicine.” In spite of everything I could do. 
he ran out fifty yards of line, and we were 
compelled to re-enter the boat and renew the 
fight. 
After a few minutes, we managed to get him 
very near the boat and were measuring him 
with our eyes, when the guide yelled" Shark!” 
Sure enough. Cutting the water like a knife. 
Pie three-cornered fin approached with light¬ 
ning speed; there were several frantic jerks on 
the line, and the strain ceased. Reeling in, we 
found the shark had cut the double 24-strand 
line as cleanly as though it had been done with 
a pair of scissors. Pie was an enormous brute, 
but whether, as the guide said, 20 feet long, I 
leave to the reader’s imagination. I put on a 
new hook, and again set to work. 
In the next couple of hours fully twenty fish 
touched the bait. Of these I hooked several, 
but they all jumped once and escaped. T was 
thinking, that as I had one good specimen to 
mount, it was more fun to see the fish jump 
than to catch them, when the guide said he 
thought a shark was attacking our fish. We 
made the best time possible and arrived at the 
log in time to drive off the shark. We were too 
late, however, to save the tarpon. On draw¬ 
ing the fish out upon the bank we found the 
shark had bitten a big piece out of his tail. 
This ruined him for mounting, so, after taking 
his photograph, we returned him to his natural 
element. 
We fished until five o’clock, but as we suc¬ 
ceeded only in making a few fish jump, were 
compelled to return to Tampico empty-handed. 
Plowever, I had enjoyed a day of magnificent 
sport, and had learned something about tarpon 
fishing. For example, it is without doubt a 
mistake to use a five-pound drag. When the 
fish jumps he gives the line a mighty jerk. If 
the line is taut, something must give. Unless 
the angler is able, by lowering his rod, to give 
the fish sufficient leeway, the line must run off 
the reel or the hook be torn from the fish’s 
mouth. Now, despite the many wonderful 
tales I have listened to while ensconced in a 
comfortable arm chair two thousand miles 
from a tarpon, a five-pound drag I found to 
be so powerful that in almost every case the 
fish was able to free himself. Any man who 
says—and a great many do—that a five-pound 
drag “had no effect” on a tarpon, very evi¬ 
dently pointed his rod at the fish. This takes 
the strain off the rod and puts it all on the 
reel—and is an absurd way to fish; one might 
better use a hand line. Such a silly proceeding 
is the direct cause of practically every broken 
reel. If the rod is held at a right angle with 
the line, it is protected against sudden jerks 
by its own spring. There is of course no give 
to a reel, and when using a 24-strand line tested 
up to seventy-five pounds, the jerk which it is 
possible to apply, especially when using the 
thumb brake, is simply terrific. By reducing 
