PERU 



without catching one and I was confident my luck would 

 change Down Under. I fished off Havana, Walter Cay, Cat 

 Cay and Bimini without boating a single blue— and in Aus- 

 traha my ill luck persisted while my wife, on the other hand, 

 picked up five black marlin. 



I'd been at the game much too long to be much disturbed 

 over my plight and I didn't worry unduly about not catching 

 the small fish up to 300 pounds. 



I'm not a particularly religious man, though I'm the grand- 

 son of an Episcopal minister. My only aunt is an Episcopal 

 sister. I was sent to a couple of Episcopalian schools and 

 I go to church once a month. I also say my prayers on 

 occasion. I say them particularly when on fishing trips. But 

 for some time I've been harboring the suspicion that the 

 Episcopal Church is a very good tuna church but not a good 

 marlin church. 



In fact I'd even discussed this matter with my minister in 

 my home village of East Hampton. I attended the Church of 

 England services in Australia but it didn't improve my marlin 

 luck. Now I was going to New Zealand— and was I confident 

 of a break! I felt sure I'd emerge from my slump in those 

 waters. I convinced myself I would because my grandfather 

 named my father after Bishop Selwyn of Christ Church, 

 Oxford, who'd founded the Church of England in New 

 Zealand and I, being Junior, was also named after him. No- 

 body visiting these Islands and bearing the name of a great 

 New Zealand bishop could possibly not enjoy tremendous 

 luck with black marlin, I concluded. But when angling I am 

 inclined to be superstitious in the matter of clothes, gloves, 

 and sometimes rods and reels. Like many other fishermen, if 



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