ow a fish to have his way, and to make no attempt to gaff him until
he is exhausted or until you can force him up to within gaffing
distance against the current, is to find yourself at the end of the
battle so far from your pool as to render a return unpleasantly
tedious. Under such circumstances the order of battle with experts is
as follows: The moment the fish starts down stream push below him with
all possible despatch, reeling up the attained slack as the distance
decreases. When the desired position is reached the canoe is thrown
across the current and allowed to float with it. As the fish is above
you, it is comparatively easy, with the aid of the current, to guide
him downward with a very moderate pressure. In this position, with the
exercise of proper caution and skill, the fish can generally be brought
near enough to be gaffed long before he is the least exhausted.

This mode of killing is not only exciting, but very hazardous. The
fish, when brought close up to the canoe, sometimes dashes beneath it,
to the great peril of rod, reel, and leader, if not to the
perpendicularity of the canoe itself. To illustrate: I had struck a
large fish, and was playing him in the manner detailed, to my entire
satisfaction. I had never been better pleased with the behavior of any
fish, and I had him under such perfect control that I foolishly began
to deem myself perfect master of the situation. In his strugglings the
fish had crossed and recrossed the channel a hundred times--had rushed
up stream and dashed down stream with the speed and eccentricity of a
boomerang, but had failed to get beyond the restraint of a steady
tension. I had reached a point in the struggle where I would not have
given a farthing to be insured against accidents, when, while holding
him within twenty feet of my tip, he turned his head down stream and
dashed directly under the centre of the canoe, bearing my rod with him,
and bending it double before I knew whether I stood on my head or my
heels. And then came a crack, and a tear, and a snap, splintering the
second joint of my rod, and breaking my tip like a pipe stem. I
supposed, of course, that the wrench had released the fish, and I began
to reel in as disconsolate as a defeated candidate for office. But,
hollo! the fish is not off! When the crash came the line had rendered
so freely that there was no unusual strain upon the hook, and he was
still fast. But what of that? How could I save him with suc