60 CHANNEL ISLANDS OF CALIFORNIA 



On came the fish — blue, green, yellow, and silver 

 — flashing, tossing the spray, until it reached a point 

 ten feet distant, when evidently it sighted the boat, 

 turned sharply, and shot away like an arrow, taking 

 off three hundred or more feet of line, and had to be 

 again pumped up from the depths. Again it rose to 

 the surface, again it charged me in the same gallant 

 fashion, this el toro of the sea; a proceeding that was 

 sensational in the highest degree; and so two hours 

 passed. There was no "time," it was all action on 

 the part of the fish, and terrific strain on the resilient 

 rod, which had to be held at an angle of forty-five 

 degrees. At two hours and a half the tuna swam in 

 a circle about the boat after one of its sensational 

 charges, then it started out to sea, taking us along at 

 a rapid pace for a mile, when I stopped and turned 

 it. It doubled and swam back, heading for the rocks 

 near a point, and did not stop until so near them that 

 I expected it to foul in the kelp; but when it sighted 

 this floating forest it turned, circled the boat, and 

 literally went mad as I stood and tried to hold it. 

 Now it plunged to the bottom, rose like a balloon to 

 circle the boat with great velocity, then dashed away 

 to turn and charge us; all accomplished so quickly 

 that boatman and angler were weary in anticipating 

 it. I had been playing the tuna three hours, and we 

 were four miles from the point where it was hooked. 

 By a desperate effort I reeled it to within thirty feet, 

 so near that the boatman began to handle his gaff. 

 I fancied that the end was at hand, and was congratu- 

 lating myself as I began dimly to realize that this 

 fish was playing me also, and that I was slowly going 

 down. 



