The Royal Catch 265 



San Antonio and San Jacinto stand ten thousand feet 

 in air against vermilion clouds, looks and sees a mass 

 of whitecaps in the midst of the calm, sees black 

 objects leaping from the sea, and then Avalon goes 

 mad. 



" Tunas ! " " Look ! " " The tunas have come ! " are 

 the cries in " dago " Spanish, California Italian, Hispano- 

 Mexican, and English. Every angler rushes for his rod 

 and boat, and in a short time several trim tuna launches 

 are darting out across the bay, while less fortunate 

 anglers are hurrying hither and yon hunting for boat- 

 men, boatmen are hunting for patrons who perhaps are 

 playing golf, baitmen are rushing for the seine, and the 

 whole fishing community is thrown into great excitement. 



Meanwhile the boatman is baiting the hooks with 

 the large-twelve-inch California flying-fish, the natural 

 food of the tuna, impaling it so that the bait will move 

 through the water in a natural position and not twist. 

 The school of tunas is moving north and the boatman 

 steers the launch to cross them. All being ready, the 

 anglers wet their lines to prevent any burning off when 

 the leather brakes are applied, slack out fifty or sixty 

 feet, and sit with rods across the lap, one to port, the 

 other to starboard, the tips at an angle of forty-five 

 degrees, left hand upon the rod grip above the reel 

 seat, and right thumb upon the leather pad which the 

 skilled angler plays upon to kill the game. 



On nearing the school, the fishes become more 

 distinct and the splendid spectacle is afforded of large 



