CHAPTER XVIII 



ASHORE AT THE WRONG TIME 



IT would be difficult to convince the average mortal 

 that he was really having hard luck when catch- 

 ing a nine-and-three-quarter-pound trout in a 

 region a little short of perfect, — a mountain paradise; 

 yet if my friend Beebe and I had been at Santa Cata- 

 lina in 1907 instead of at Pelican Bay, on the Upper 

 Klamath, we would still have had good trout records, 

 and have added to our experience the play of a rare 

 tuna, which took an unfair advantage of the fact that 

 we were absent, and afforded remarkable sport to 

 members of the Tuna Club, and many more. The 

 big rainbow hangs on the wall of the Tuna Club, and 

 I have never caught a yellow-fin; but when I hear any 

 one expressing surprise, I lead him up to the big rain- 

 bow, which is as long as some yellowtails, and ask him 

 if he has ever taken a rainbow trout as large as that, 

 and which he would rather take. 



The facts are that while Mr. Beebe and I were at 

 Pelican Bay, Oregon, there appeared at Los Coronados 

 and Santa Catalina a new fish, — according to Dr. 

 David Starr Jordan, at least new to America, — a 

 splendid fish running up to seventy pounds, which the 

 boatmen called the "yellow-fin tuna"; a true tuna, 

 which afforded far easier sport than the big leaping 

 tuna. 



211 



