22 ALBACORA 



that meant. The fish had spurned our bait. He was 

 sounding, diving deep below the surface. There was 

 nothing left for us but to wait and hope that the fish 

 would rise again. Sometimes we had waited an hour 

 before a fish surfaced or we stopped hoping that he 

 would. Mario, high in the crow's-nest, scanned the sea, 

 but the big fin never came back into view. 



"Never mind, we'll get another one. They're here. 

 That's what counts," Lou insisted, trying to raise our 

 spirits. 



Soon Mario was shouting again. ^'Marlina," he 

 yelled. '^Uno, dos, tres, cuatro, cinco,^' "Doty," Lou 

 shouted at once, "train your cameras on those babies. 

 Let's get some real action this time." 



If nothing else, the albacora's escape seemed to have 

 impressed Lou with the importance of following his 

 ovm prearranged plan for getting the pictures. All he 

 allowed himself was the luxury of one single ad libr 

 With marlin at hand, Lou moved to Doty's side, as he 

 had intended, and started to bark out directions. But 

 abruptly Lou changed his mind. "I'm not a camera 

 director," he yelled. "The hell with this. Walt, come on 

 into the WaWa. Let's get those fish." Howard took the 

 wheel of the Explorer, Gorman, a tall, powerful man, 

 and Lou, not as tall but no less massive and muscular, 

 jumped into the tiny WaWa at the same time. The WaWa 

 bobbed but stayed afloat. Walt threw out the towline and 

 started the outboard motor. The skiff can go twenty-five 



