NONSUCH 



butterfly catching from a surf -board. Anyway, it 

 was grand sport, all the more because we knew so 

 little about the lives of these fish and every capture 

 was a real addition to knowledge. 



My companion, from his seat in the stern with the 

 engine, depended on me for direction, and as I stood 

 braced on the bow thwart, I had not only to hold 

 to the taut bow line for support but watch for the 

 young fish as they took to wing, indicate their line 

 of escape, shout directions as to speed, and finally 

 swing the net and capture my game either as it rose 

 for a second flight or prepared to dive. When a par- 

 ticularly fine specimen ducked into the water and 

 rose again at right angles, then when we banked 

 sharply for the turn, and an unexpected swell car- 

 ried us up toward the sky on an actively moving 

 hillside, it took all my power of balance and poise 

 to keep from following my game headlong into the 

 sea. 



Long ago on the Arcturus I gave the name of 

 butterflyingfish to some brightly colored young 

 ones, and here in these northern waters they more 

 than ever deserved the title. We caught hardly two 

 alike and none was somber. While we are quite 

 ignorant of the whole life histories of these fish, yet 

 these gorgeously pigmented youngsters seem to 

 represent intermediate stages between the amber 

 and yellow colored, newly hatched young which 

 probably owe their existence through a stage of 

 infantile helplessness to sargassum berries, and the 

 protectively colored ultramarine and silver full- 



64 



