CATCHING A PICKEREL.

Temuka Leader, Volume 2, Issue 115, 22 January 1879, Page 3

CATCHING A PICKEREL.

I landed my first pickerel the first evening we were on the lake. lam not a skilful fisherman. I told the boys I could do a little plam fishing, but I diln’t want to be set clow'n for anything with any kind, of fluting, embroidery, knife-plaiting nr anything of that kind about it. I fished from the shore, by the side of a veteran fisher, Mr. A. K. Dunlap. He knows every fish in the lake bv name. He can tell by the movement of the line what kind of a fish is at your hook. Something ran away with my line. “ It’s a pickerel,” shouted Mr. Dunlap, in intense excitement. “ A big fellow. Take out your lines,” he veiled to the rest of them, “ Give him plenty of room ! Play him,” he shrieked at me. “ Let him run ! Keep your line taut ! Don’t give him an inch of slack ! Look out ! Don’t let him do that again ! Let him run ! Now, bring him in this Look out ! Don’t let him do that again !” By this time I was so excited I was on the point of throwing down the pole and rushing out in the lake, intending to run the fish down and kick it to death. I screamed to Mr. Dunlap : “ You take the pole and land him, I never can.” He x'efused. He turned and hurled his own pole, lance fashion, into the woods, “ Here !” he shouted, running down the bank about twenty feet below me, stooping down and sprevding out his arras. “ Here ! Now ! Bring him in here through the shoal water ? I’ll got him ! Careful, now ! Careful ! Steady ! Ah ” .«■ And flip, flap, I had him on the shore. He was a beauty. A little sunfidi, about three and a half inches long.— ‘ Detroit Free Press.’