THE WHITE SEA BASS 327 



spurned the bait, and as they moved along in columns 

 of scores, the disappointment was keen and irritating. 

 Suddenly it occurred to me, in one of those inspira- 

 tions that sometimes come, to try flying-fish — seem- 

 ingly impossible lure, one would think, a fish weighing 

 one and a half pounds, and eighteen inches in length 

 (Cypselurus calif amicus) . Such a bait was all ready, 

 the leader was quickly fastened to the line, and with 

 a side swing the flying-fish was sent thirty feet away 

 into the very midst of a platoon of giants, which were 

 moving slowly along with their dorsal fins out of 

 water. As the bait fell with a splash the unexpected 

 happened; several bass started quickly, and out of 

 the band, from some distance behind, rushed one which 

 seized it and held on like a bulldog, very naturally 

 supposing that good fortune had sent a living flying- 

 fish his way. He stopped for a second or two, appar- 

 ently expecting the fish to struggle, then turned it, 

 all on the surface in plain view, pointed it, head down, 

 as would a snake a frog, and with four or five con- 

 vulsive choking gulps, with expanded mouth and 

 gills, swallowed it. I then took part in the play, 

 shortening the delicate line, and with a heavy sway 

 gave the fish the butt. Fishermen whose ears are 

 attuned only to the small trout reel, or the vibrant 

 tongue of the black bass reel, have little conception of 

 the sound that rose on the air as the big tuna reel 

 spoke. I well recall being able to pick out my indi- 

 vidual hounds as far as I could hear them when fol- 

 lowing coyote or lynx in California: Music's cry was 

 low and mellow, Chiquita's long and penetrating, and 

 so on. And so with these reels: they seem to have an 

 individuality, and when the zeee-zeeee rose on the air, 



