124 ALBACORA 



unrolling. Lou sat stark still and waited. Fifteen seconds 

 later the tackle unrolled again. A minute passed, and 

 still the line uncoiled neither more swiftly nor more 

 slowly. Then it was two minutes, then three, then four, 

 then five. I heard the faint humming of the engines as 

 they idled, and sharp slaps of the choppy water against 

 the sides of the Explorer, Overhead, ocean birds were 

 making faint angry noises. But there were no human 

 sounds I could detect except for the hiss of my own 

 breathing. 



As the wait entered its sixth minute, the line suddenly 

 uncoiled with a rush. The reel whined angrily. "Strike," 

 Lou roared. "Boat!" The engines thundered with a full 

 burst of power. The Explorer jumped ahead in the roll- 

 ing ocean, and I pitched against the transom, stumbled 

 on my good leg and held on to the transom with both 

 hands. Somehow I managed to turn myself around and 

 crawl to the cot. 



Lou was reeling in furiously and for a few seconds 

 I thought he had him securely hooked. Then the line 

 went slack. "No," Lou bellowed. "Hell!" The albacora 

 was free somewhere out in the ocean. Lou reeled in the 

 rest of his line deliberately and with disgust. Finally, 

 when he lifted the hook out of the water, we saw the 

 bait. It had been flattened, mashed and sliced by the 

 angry albacora. There was no chance of using it again. 



"Too bad, Lou," I said. 



"Yeah," he said. "We're still going to get one, 



