ALBACORA 97 



"Something like that," Rivas said. 



Jo and I counted the number of spines in each of the 

 fish's fins. We measured the depth and diameter of the 

 eyeballs. We measured the length and width of the bill. 

 It was two hours before Luis Rivas would let us go, 

 and by that time he had won four converts to science. 

 After spending twenty years at fishing, I realized that 

 I knew next to nothing about fish's habits, senses, sensi- 

 bilities, or, for that matter, their sex life. It was not 

 long before Lou and Luis Rivas were talking along 

 the exciting lines that were to lead to our Iquique ex- 

 pedition. Suddenly John and Jo Manning and Lou and 

 I had a lifetime of science to catch up on. "Why, do 

 you realize," I found myself admitting, "that we don't 

 even have any idea whether fish feel pain from our 

 hooks?" 



"I don't think you need to worry too much on that 

 score," Rivas remarked the next day at Pfluger's Mor- 

 tuary when I put the question to him. "If they do, the 

 pain could be no more than slight." 



"I thought there was a lot of debate going on about 

 that," Lou said. 



"Yes there is," Rivas said, "and it isn't possible to 

 be positive, but we have certain indications. I've heard 

 about a perch who was hooked in the eye, making the 

 fisherman who caught him want to throw him back. When 

 the man removed the hook, though, he also removed 

 the eye." 



"Ugh," I said, supported by a faint squeal from Jo. 



