CHAPTER XXV 



AN UMBRELLA OF FISHES 



BOUT six miles off the southeast coast of the 

 island of Santa Catalina, California, is a region, 

 of happy memory to many an angler, called by 

 the boatmen the " doldrums," as it is an offshore 

 lee, lying between the winds; hence is nearly always calm. 

 Sometimes the prevailing west wind comes around the north 

 end and reaches it; again, vagrant zephyrs come down the 

 San Clemente channel and ripple its surface; but, as 

 a rule, it is a region of soft winds and calms, only a long 

 imperceptible ground swell telling of storms far out at 

 sea. 



As these lines are written, I am just in from the " dol- 

 drums " ; having drifted in it, steamed across it all day troll- 

 ing for swordfish and tuna, over seas of sapphire, with the 

 best of angling company. We sailed from seven in the 

 morning until five in the afternoon. It was in latitude 32°, 

 but the winds, when there were any, were cool and pleasant, 

 and more than once we exchanged views to the effect that if 

 there was another fishing ground in the world as delightful 

 and comfortable as this, we did not know it. Care, respon- 

 sibility, the worries and happenings of life, were left aside. 

 There was not even a cloud to invade the " doldrums," nor 

 was there what we were in search of — tuna or swordfish; 

 but there was the unexpected always happening on the 

 angler's horizon. 



The ocean here was a blue of divine hue, deep, pure, pul- 

 sating, as though made up of infinitesimal dust atoms of 

 diamonds. Over the surface at long intervals were patches 



206 



