ALBACORA 121 



"Mario says they're coming closer to shore every- 

 day," Walt called back. "Let's keep on up the coast a 

 while." 



"Okay," Lou said, without enthusiasm. 



Within half an hour the water had turned choppy and 

 a fresh wind whipped up. Mario's extra sense had been 

 correct. ''Agim blanca/' Gus called from the mast. 

 Good clear fishing water — albacora water! As I sat in 

 my chair, I had just one decision to make. The twenty- 

 four-thread line was beckoning nearby, but we were on a 

 scientific expedition. I felt that if I could hook an alba- 

 cora I could make short work of him, but that was not 

 really why we were there. I was just staring blankly 

 when a huge black fin cut swiftly through the water, 

 200 feet to port. 



"Albacora," I shouted automatically. "A big one!" 



Walt Gorman must have seen it at the same time. 

 Immediately the boat was moving toward the fin, which 

 stuck up a good two feet above the bumpy water. 



Lou moved to his rod and started peeling off line. 

 "All right," I said. "All right." I got out of the chair 

 and Lou dropped into it, not noticing me or the ocean 

 or anything in the world except that single black fin. 

 Still, it was hard to keep the fin in sight among the 

 choppy waves and the big surging rolls of sea. Mario 

 and Gus, from their vantage point on the bridge, had to 

 keep pointing it out to Walt Gorman. A lifetime on the 

 ocean must do something for the eyes, and both boys 

 had phenomenal vision. But while Mario and Gus were 



